Like A Lonely House--A Love Story Told in Nineteen Parts
by TheSecretAdmirer
Summary: Companion to the 1st two stories of the Eden Trilogy. A series of first-person vignettes that start at the beginning of Enemy and chronicle the story of Ginny and Blaise through the end of I Know You Know. Major spoilers for both stories, so beware. M for foul language, sex, rock n' roll...all the good stuff. R&R!
1. Part I

**Like a Lonely House—A Love Story Told in Nineteen Parts**

 _"So I wait for you like a lonely house, till you will see me again and live in me. Til then my windows ache."_

 _-Pablo Neruda_

* * *

Part I:

* * *

I stand on the Platform and sigh, wishing Draco would just stop talking about Lefevre already. It's over—he's the only one who still can't see it—and it bound to end in disaster, just like it did last year. I glance over to where Lefevre's standing with Potter, looking so in love I want to be sick, and fight not to roll my eyes.

Only a Malfoy would have the arrogance to think he can win her back now that she's dating the Boy Who Sodding Lived. Then again, Drake has always been something of a glutton for punishment.

Daddy issues, I suppose, though I'd never say that to him. I'm not a complete bastard, and he is my friend, after all. Still, that doesn't keep me from privately thinking he's an idiot. What was the point of wanting someone who is never going to want you back? Honestly, why anyone would want to put themselves through that sort of torture is beyond me.

Is it really, though?

Maybe not, some dark part of me admits as I watch Ginny Weasley appear onto the platform and gravitate towards them. My heart gives a little annoying flutter as I watch her toss her copper hair over one shoulder. What I wouldn't give to run my hands through it even once. Hell, I'm not proud; I would settle for getting close enough to smell it. I bet it smells amazing.

 _Snap out of it_ , I scold myself. She's just a silly girl, for Merlin's sake. And I'm—well I'm me, aren't I? A rich, fit bloke who can have any girl he wants. So why do I want her? That's easy, I tell myself; I want to shag her.

But I don't, though.

Well, I mean, I do. _Of course_ I do. Even at sixteen she's every man's wildest fantasy. That hair and those eyes and that arse—

I sigh.

What I suppose I meant was, I don't _just_ want to shag her. I mostly just want to learn everything there is to know about her. I want to hear her laugh, see her smile at me. She's never, not once in the five years we've being going to school together, smiled at me, and even I—with my lifetime of perfectly honed indifference—can't deny how much it stings.

What is it about me that she finds so distasteful? I mean, honestly, what have I _ever_ done to her?

So I hate her brother and her house and all her housemates. So what? And sure, maybe my best friend _is_ trying to win her best friend away from her. What does that have to do with us? Besides, I never told Draco to pursue Leolin. In fact, I'd love nothing more for him to stop.

Maybe I ought to tell Ginny that. _Hey, I'm on your side; I think they'd be shite together, too. Fancy having dinner sometime?_

As I contemplating this(fantasizing about it, if I'm being honest), she looks over at me. Well, technically she's looking at Draco—glaring, actually—but eventually she looks at me, and my heart does that annoying flutter thing again.

Merlin, maybe I do hate her. At the very least, I hate her for making me feel like a teenage girl, and an ugly one at that. In some desperate attempt to regain some control over the situation, I pull a Draco and give her a shameful up-down instead of a smile.

I don't know why—I regret it pretty much as soon as I've done it—and now she's scowling at me. The ship is sinking fast now, I ought to just abort, but instead I double down and wink at her.

The scowl deepens, but I note with satisfaction that now she's blushing too. _I knew it._ She thinks I'm sexy.

Of course she does; I _am_ sexy.

Incredibly sexy. So sexy, in fact, that it boggles my mind that she doesn't want me. Who wouldn't want me? _Everyone_ wants me.

Except…her.

She's not blushing anymore, and the scowl has turned to a downright sneer. It's the kind of look you reserve for someone you genuinely can't stand. It's the kind of look Lefevre and Pucey are always giving each other. Ugh, it's the kind of look she usually reserves just for Draco. It's so far from the smile I'd wanted to I have to fight not to swear out loud.

 _Goddamnit, Zabini,_ I seethe to myself. _You've blown it_. Great, and now she's turning her back to me. Brilliant.

I turn to Draco, scowling, ready to tell him we ought to just get on the sodding train already, only to find he's not paying attention to me. Instead he's watching Lefevre storm towards us, giving him the same odious look Weasley just gave me.

I clench my jaw. We're both fucking idiots.

* * *

 _Don't get involved, Gin,_ I tell myself as I watch Leolin and Malfoy from across the hall. _It's none of your business._ I've been watching them all Feast, since before sorting even started, and I know I should just let it go, but I can't.

I love her, I remind myself, she's my best friend, and it's clear from her furrowed brow and curled lip that she's taking no pleasure in sitting next to Malfoy. Still, the temptation to tap Harry on the shoulder and tell him everything lingers.

It's a debate I've been having with myself for a full year now: should I tell Harry what went down between Leolin and Malfoy last year? I admit I often want to, but then I also have to admit _why_ I want to. It's certainly not because I'm trying to be a good friend. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm tempted to do it because despite the fact she's like a sister to me, I'm jealous of her. That, and I'm coincidentally in love with her boyfriend.

Why oh _why_ did I introduce them? Of course Harry was going to bloody fall in love with her; she's beautiful and funny and smart and great.

I glance over at him, only to find he's watching her, green eyes sparkling from behind his glasses. And he's not the only one. I caught Malfoy watching her, too, drinking her in like she's an expensive wine.

I roll my eyes somewhat bitterly. Why couldn't anyone ever look at me like that? Ironically enough, I _do_ feel someone looking at me, and I let my eyes slide down the Slytherin table several seats as my frown deepens.

 _Zabini_ , I think with loathing. _What the bloody hell does he want?_

He looks away momentarily to say something to Adrian Pucey, and I take the opportunity to study him. I do, in the effort of fairness, have to admit he's rather gorgeous.

Not that I care, but I do sometimes catch myself wondering if his dark skin is as soft as it looks. I'm sure it is, but only because he's vain and probably hires someone to moisturize it for him. He looks back at me, those mesmerising jade green eyes—

No, absolutely _not._ I'm not going to sit here and fantasize about Zabini just because I'm lonely. He's vile, no matter how handsome he is. He's a twat, a horrible bastard, and unlike Leolin, bad boys aren't my type. I sneer at him for good measure so he knows I mean business.

He doesn't, though. In fact, he smiles in response, teeth sparkling against his dark complexion. Merlin's beard, I wish he would just give up, already.

He leans over to Pucey again, saying something that makes him laugh. My scowl deepens when they both turn back to look at me. I'm get the feeling I'm the butt of some misogynist joke between them, and that suspicion seems to be confirmed when _Pucey_ winks at me.

Ugh, bastards, the lot of them.

Maybe that's what this was. _Five galleons if you can get in Ginny's Weasley's knickers._ I flush with embarrassment, flipping Pucey a foul hand gesture when he blows me a kiss. They both bloody wish. I would sooner die than touch either of them, _especially_ Zabini. The next time he tries to talk to me, I'm going to tell him that. We'll see how he likes that, the prick.

* * *

a/n: so this is an experiment, just trying out something new and seeing where it goes. First-person is by no means my forte, but I intend to see this through. As always, constuctive crit (or flames) are always welcome

In other news, it's that time again where I'm calling for new OCs for the Eden Trilogy. As fans of the series know, some of the bests OCs, including Felix and Torrii Thivierge, were created through this system, which is why I keep doing it. Also, it's just tons of fun to make up new characters. If you have a character, fill out the survey below and either PM me or leave it to me in a comment. Happy characer creating, and please REVIEW.

xx

TSA

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	2. Part II

**Like A Lonely House** — **A Love Story Told in Nineteen Parts**

* * *

Part II:

* * *

I watch Malfoy slither down to sit next to Leolin from across the party, watch her eyes light up even as she frowns at him, and I feel equal parts guilty and vindicated.

She wants to be here.

I know she'd never admit it to me—I doubt she'd even admitted it to herself—but I can see that she does.

She loves him, she always has, and I'm torn between stopping her and let her act on it. The horrible part is that part of me _wants_ her to act on it. More than that; part of me told her to come tonight _hoping_ she'd act on it. I watch her flush as he tucks some hair behind her ear, and I feel a pit forming in my stomach. I should stop her. I should stop her, and then I should drag her back to Gryffindor Tower and convince Harry to forgive her.

I don't, though. Instead I stay just stay where I am, wishing like always I could turn the clock back and keep any of this from happening.

"May I?"

Zabini snaps me out of my reverie, and despite the ugly look I shoot him, I'm relieved. Hating him is so familiar, so safe, and right now I'm craving that familiarity. At the very least, I'm craving a distraction from my own self-loathing.

"If you must," I say flippantly, taking a sip of my drink and looking away to indicate how uninterested in him. In reality, I'm oddly relieved he's here.

"You're looking rather forelorn, Weasley," he points out mildly. "Where's Corner?"

"Why are you so interested?" I snap, and he raises his eyebrows.

"I'm just trying to make conversation," he says, and I huff.

"You can call off your stupid bet with Pucey," I snap. "It's never going to happen."

"Excuse me?"

I watch him draw a cigarette from behind his ear and slip it between his lips.

"I'm not stupid," I tell him. "I saw you two conspiring at the Sorting Feast."

"Conspiring?" he repeats, smirking softly and without malice as he lights the fag. The light from the flames touches his eyes, making them gleam. "About what?"

"Everyone knows about it," I continue. "How you put money on who can shag a girl first. Honestly, it's so vile."

He exhales the smoke through his lips and nose but doesn't smile. He rarely does, I'm just realising. He's an almost comically stoic bloke, though I admit he wears impassivity well.

"That's Adrian's game, not mine," he says in a cool tone. "And I agree it's distasteful."

"So are you denying it?" I demand.

He's right; I've never _actually_ heard confirmation that he's involved. I'm just in a foul mood and looking for someone to take it out on. Right now he's presenting an easy target.

"I am," he replies, studying me, seeking to call my bluff. "Because I would never do that."

"I find that hard to believe," I snap as he takes another drag.

"I don't know why," he says, infuriating calm in the face of such an unsavory accusation. "You literally know nothing about me."

"I know you're friends with that foul little snake Pucey."

At this one corner of his mouth tugs up.

"I wouldn't call us friends, exactly."

It's such a Slytherin response.

"What about Malfoy?" I press. "You're friends with him, aren't you?"

"Yes," he concedes. "But Draco's never played, either. Despite what you think about him, that's not his style."

"Then why is he so interested in Leolin?"

This also seems to amuse him—to whatever degree an aloof twat like him is truly capable of being amused, that is—and a smile tugs at his lips again.

"Adrian would have to be pretty fucking stupid to make a wager like that on Lefevre; she bloody loathes him. He has a better changing of shagging McGonagall. Besides, I know you know—even if you don't want to admit it—that Leolin actually means something to Drake."

I huff and he raises his eyebrows.

"Seriously, Weasley, what's your problem with me? If I've offended you in some way, I apologise. I assure you it wasn't my intention."

"I just—" I break off, because I realise now that he's said it out loud I don't really have one, especially now that I know he hasn't been shagging girls to win galleons. "I don't know."

"Exactly," he said evenly.

"Why are you so interested in me?" I blurt, feeling oddly guilty now.

"Maybe I think you're interesting," he says mildly.

"You don't know anything about me," I say, nonplussed.

"Well maybe I'd like to."

I must be frowning, because he's give a small sound of amusement from the back of his his throat that halts just short of an actual laugh.

"That wasn't an euphemism," he clarifies. "I just mean, what have you got against interhouse cordiality? Isn't that why your brothers invented these parties in the first place?"

"Somehow I don't think this—" I gesture between us. "is what they had in mind."

"For a girl with like sixty brothers, you are awfully pessimistic about our gender," he points out.

I'm growing increasingly annoyed, especially when I realise it's because I'm actually sort of enjoying this. He's admittedly not the quite slick git I thought he was, though he's admittedly plenty slick. Besides, there is little to no point in denying that he's incredibly handsome, and now that I'm drunk, it's harder not to admire him. He catches me looking, and he smirks softly again.

"What?" I demand, fending off a fantastic blush.

"I didn't say a word," he points out, and this time he does actually smile, displaying an impressive array of straight, white teeth.

It's not that same cocky look Malfoy always has on his face, but it's not without some self-satisfaction either. Still, I don't _hate_ it, I suppose. I mean, I certainly don't _like_ it, but it definitely could be...worse.

In the silence, he draws out a second fag with long, graceful fingers before lighting it. None of my friends smoke, but I admit I kind of like the perfumy smell. I'm almost tempted to ask him for one, but somehow I don't want to give him the satisfaction.

"So," he says after a minute, curling tendrils of emerald smoke slithering past his lips as he speaks. "Tell me something about yourself."

I consider this query, and him, trying to decide what he wants from me. His face is admittedly very difficult to read, but his eyes are in no way unkind, He also hasn't made a move to touch me, despite our proximity. In light of all this—and all the alcohol I've consumed—I answer.

"What do you want to know?"

He doesn't immediately speak, carefully to choice the question.

"Where'd you learn to fly like that?" he asks. "That was some pretty impressive stuff today."

I can feel a hot, femrage remark falling off my tongue before I even realise it; a snide and caustic retort about about women being just as capable as men. However, I bite it back—not because it's not true or because I'm worried about bruising his undoubtedly fragile male ego—but because he didn't mention it, either. He hadn't qualified my flying. Why should I?

"Well like you said," I finally reply. "I have sixty brothers. Comes in handy when fielding a backyard match."

His eyes glitter as he graces me with another half smile.

"How many do you actually have?" he says.

"Six," I tell him, and he raises his eyebrows, though there is no scorn in his expression.

"I suppose you're an only child," I say.

It seems like most of the Slytherins are, besides the Pucey brothers, the Faulkners, and the Greengrass sisters.

"I am," he concedes. "Though there's no need to say it with such distain. Overpopulation is a huge problem globally."

From Malfoy or one of the others, it would have been a jibe about the size of my own family. However, he offered the statistic casually and without malice.

Suddenly I'm tempted to ask him about his mother, who nearly has as many ex-husbands as I do brothers. However, I stop myself, because I know it's a terribly rude thing to say. Also (and perhaps more realistically, considering what a nosy drunk I am), one of the Faulkner boys—the older one—is coming towards us. He's an incredibly beefy bloke for seventeen, and he's got a full sleeve of tattoos running down his corded right arm, including a topless mermaid and a pair of crossed beaters' bats.

"There you are, mate," he said jovially to Zabini, trying but ultimately failing not to slur his words. "Where's—" he pauses, glancing over at where Leolin and Malfoy are deep in conversation, their faces no more than twelves inches apart, and laughs. "Oh, right."

"Liam, you know Weasley," Zabini says, gesturing to me.

Liam's eyes flit over me disinterestedly, though his gaze is not malicious. It more seems he's distracted.

"Sure, sure," he said, a little impatiently. "Lef's friend. How are you, love?"

"Fine, thanks," I reply in a dry tone that is some mixture of amusement and annoyance. I push down the latter part, because I'm not annoyed. Why would I be annoyed? Honestly, I'm grateful for the interruption. Who would want to sit there talking to Zabini all night? Not me, I assure myself.

"Brilliant," Liam replies, not longer looking at me. "Look, Z, think you could spot me five gals? I'm a bit skint just now."

Zabini purses his lips.

"What do you need five galleons for?"

Liam has the decency to look sheepish as he gives me an uncomfortable laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. How doesn't say anything, but his eyes flit over my shoulder, and we both turn to look where he's indicating.

I catch sight of Lavender Brown standing near the exit, snogging Pucey like he's her only air supply. They're only visible for another minute or two before he takes her hand and they disappear into the corridor beyond.

I turn to Zabini, snarling as I vacate my chair.

"You liar," I level at him.

"I wasn't lying," he defends. "I never play their stupid game."

"Thank Merlin for that," I hear Faulkner mutter, and I glare at him.

"But I never said I didn't know about the bets."

"That's such a Slytherin answer," I sneer.

"You knew about them, too!" he points out, and the its most emotion he's shown all evening. "Everyone knows, you said it yourself. Knowing doesn't make you complicit!"

"Do it not?" I snap.

I need to find Michael and get out of here. All this Slytherin bullocks is turning my stomach.

"C'mon, Weasley," Faulkner says. "Don't blame Blaise! He's right, he's never taken a wager. In fact, he hasn't even been in the betting pool in ages."

"You make wagers _against_ the wagers?" I demand, looking at Zabini with utter loathing.

I knew I was right to detest him. He seems to know Faulkner's backing them into the corner, because he tries to shut him up. Unfortunately for both of them, Faulkner's too drunk to notice.

"Well yeah," Faulkner laughs. "That way you have skin in the game even if, you know, you don't want to put _skin_ in the game."

"Ugh!" I scream. "You're foul, Zabini!"

"Weasley—" he says, taking a step towards me.

"Piss off," I snarl, taking several in the opposite direction. "And you can tell Pucey his little game is up. When I'm done, no girl's going to want to come within a hundred miles of any of you."

I look around to find Leolin and Malfoy have already disappeared before swearing and storming off.

* * *

I don't think I could honestly be in more foul of a mood after the party.

All I want is to be left alone, so it really feels like insult is being added to injury when, around half two, the Slytherin Common Room suddenly becomes Kings fucking Cross.

First it's Draco, who bursts in spitting and hissing about Lefevre.

"She went back to him, can you believe that?" he sneers, driving his hairs through his hair.

I'm tempted to bit out that yes, I _can_ believe that, because she's being saying right along that she loves Potter and she has no intention of leaving him. Still, when I set aside some of my own selfish anger about what went down with Weasley, I silently admit he's got a point. I saw them together earlier, and he's not wrong about her. It's pretty obvious she has feeling for Draco, and they are alarmingly deep. Still, Lefevre is nothing if not stubborn, and she has more Gryffindor in her then he wants to admit. Whatever she feels for Drake, it's obviously being pinned down by her pointless loyalty to Potter.

"Merlin!" Draco cries, tugging on his hair again. He really ought to stop; he's going to go sodding bald. "She's bloody impossible."

"Then let her go!" I snap more harshly than I mean to.

He gives me a cold look, but behind it I can see the damage. Suddenly we're twelve again, and Draco's begging me to mend his collarbone so he doesn't have to explain to Pomphrey his father broke it for losing Quidditch match against Gryffindor. I know Weasley and everyone else doesn't see it, but Draco cares for Lefevre, and her immature refusal to admit the same is dredging up some pretty fucked up demons.

"I'm sorry, mate," I amend. "She'll come round."

I can see in his eyes that he's desperate to believe I'm right, but never one to let hope get in the way of fantastically tragic self-loathing, he makes an ugly face instead.

"To Hell with her," he growls, and before I can try, however half-heartedly, to stop him, he storms off to his own room.

After ten minutes after Drake disappears, Lavender Brown comes down the boys' side stairs, huffing. She's carrying her high heels in her arms, and her dress is rumpled, probably from lying on the floor.

Adrian comes to the balcony to watch her exit, looking amused and extremely self-satisfied.

"Going so soon?"

"You're foul!" she snarls up at him, and he flashes her a dazzling smirk.

Bet she doesn't think he's so charming now.

"Oh, don't be cross, angelfish. I'll cut you in on the action! Thanks to you, I'm minted."

"Ugh!" she screams, throwing a shoe at him.

He laughs as he dodges it, and I grit my teath. I have no patience for this, and its just making me think of Weasley again. She was right to be annoyed; in terms of human entertainment, this is pretty low.

As Brown stomps past me, she turns to give me a dirty look for good measure.

"You're vile, the lot of you," she levels at me.

"What did you expect?" I bite back, really annoyed now.

"Go to Hell!" she cries, disappearing down the passageway out of the common room.

When she's gone, I turn to sneer at Adrian, who's still laughing.

"What are you grinning at?" I snap. "Weasley's told me she's planning on blowing this whole thing to kingdom come. There isn't going to be a girl in school you'll want to talking to you."

"Who said I wanted to talk to them?" he shoots back, smirking.

"Keep laughing," I growl. "Because when Weasley tells Lefevre, the two of them are going to destroy you."

The mirth bleeds out of his gaze, leaving an unnerving sneer in its place.

"Guess I better I start on working on a plan to get into Weasley's knickers, too, then, eh?" he says, turning back towards the sixth year dorms. "Sweet dreams."

"Fuck off," I call back, incensed at his final comment.

I think of Ginny again, and my stomach clenches. I'd been right; her hair _did_ smell amazing.

And she's just so... _different._

I don't even rightly know what it is, but there is something so refreshing and just so—lovely about her. Not her appearance, per say, but just her. Maybe it's that she's so fiery, or that she's funny, or that she's quite honestly one of the best Quidditch players I've ever seen. Whatever it is, I like that it's elusive, that I can't quite put my finger on it. It leaves me wanting more. Though, after tonight, I'll probably be left wanting forever.

Fucking Pucey and his stupid game and Liam and his fat gob. I could kill them both for messing up my chance, because I can see now, with almost omniscient clarity, I won't get a second one.

So much for Ginevra Zabini.

As I am berating myself for combining our names like a thirteen year old girl, Lefevre blows in, in chest heaving. Oh bollocks, here we go.

She doesn't see me, but I'm on my feet, getting in front of her before she can get any further. The last thing I need is for Drake to lose her permanently by freakinig out on her. He'd be insufferable. And—I think more generously—I also don't to see him suffer for one moment of misguided anger.

"I wouldn't, if I were you," I tell her.

She looks up at her with her big blue eyes, and I can let some part of her knows, either from experience or intuition, not to mess with Drake when he's in a mood.

"I don't care!" she snaps. "I have to see him."

"You can see him tomorrow when he's cooled down a bit," I tell her, getting annoyed when she tries to skirt around me and head for Draco's room again. Merlin, this witch is stubborn. "Leolin!"

I finally manage to grab her arm and swing her back around and that when I realise she's been crying, and her hand is bleeding. From the looks of it, it ran into someone's face. _Hard._

"Come here," I say more harshly then I mean to, taking her hand and fixing it with my wand. She flexes it then looks up at me.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

She doesn't answer, just brushes by me to sit on the end of the couch opposite me. I follow suit, eying her.

"Can you keep a secret?" she says finally. "I suppose it doesn't matter, Romilda Vane's probably told half of Gryffindor by now."

"Is there a story in here, Lefevre?" I ask, slipping a fag between my lips and lighting it. "If there is, I would really love to hear it."

I shouldn't be so flip; I know why she's babbling. I've noticed she does it when she's trying to talk herself down from a charged emotional state. It's a bit annoying, as far as habits go, but I admire the fact she'd learned how to take control of her own emotions and console herself. It's an undervalued skill, but if she's really going to be with someone as complicated as Drake, it's one she's going to need.

She's trying not to cry, probably because of me, and I feel a bit bad. I should just tell her to let it out. On the other hand, it's been a long night, and I admit I'm not in the mood for blubbering.

Finally, she says, "Potter cheated on me tonight while I was at the party with Draco."

"He did _what_?" I demand.

"Yeah," She admits in a small voice, tears on her cheeks now. "I walked in on them mid-snog. Who knows where it would have gone if I hadn't burst in."

Her shoulders round as she valiantly fights off an audible sob, and I feel something stirring in my chest. We're friends, I realise as I watch her, though I can't remember when I started to care. I suppose I can't help seeing some reflection of what Draco sees, can't help loving some part of her because he does.

Friendship is weird, I decide, but in that moment, I can feel it tugging at me. We're friends, she and I, and I want to protect her. I want her to stop crying and feel better, but more importantly, I want to storm over to Gryffindor Tower and punch sodding Potter in the face.

"With whom?"I grit out finally. I know I probably sound mad at her, but I'm not. In all actuality, I'm trying to tamp down the voice of our newfound friendship, which is urging me to push Potter off the astronomy tower. "Who would he possibly cheat on you with?"

She doesn't say anything, still trying to keep herself from crying.

"With whom, Leolin?" I repeat, trying to sound warmer. It's hard; warm is hardly an adjective that suits me.

"Ginny," She says, looking down.

"Ginny Weasley?" I demand, mouth going dry.

Ginny.

It hits me in the chest like a punch.

My Ginny.

No, she's not mine—I know that—but sometimes, when I'm not thinking about it, I catch myself calling her that in my mind.

I look back at Lefevre, and an unkind thought comes over me. I hate her. I know it's not her fault, but I can't deny that part of me does, because now, because of her, because of my loyalty to her, I have to hate Ginny. My Ginny. I think of that smile I'd been hoping far. Not only was I never going to get it, now I couldn't even want it.

"You're fucking kidding," I manage to grit out.

"I wish," she says. She's crying in earnest now, but I can tell she's fighting to keep her voice calm. "You should have _seen_ the way they were looking at each other! Ugh! And the way he was kissing her. It was like she was the only woman on earth."

My heart clenches, like the whole muscle is cramping. Of all the many times I have pictured Ginny Weasley getting snogged, Potter has never once been involved. I can't help but curl my lip.

"Is this my fault?" She asks pitifully. "Did I bring this on myself?"

"What?" I ask, almost offended for her sake. "Your boyfriend cheated on you and you are asking me if it's your fault? Come on, Lef, you know the answer to that. Of course not."

"I'm not innocent in all of this," She points out.

"Are you talking about you and Draco?" I ask pointlessly.

Of course she is, because's he's one hundred percent right about them. I can see it on her face even now. To anyone else it would seem like mere remorse, but I know what it really is. It's guilt. She may be clinging to some misplaced loyalty to Potter—though after tonight that, _at least_ , will hopefully become part of the past—but she doesn't love him. At the very least, not like she loves Drake.

She nods, wiping at more tears.

"Have you ever snogged Draco?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"No," she admits. "He kissed me tonight and I didn't reciprocate. I wanted to, though. So badly."

 _Finally_ , I think. At least that's out there.

"It doesn't matter," I tell her firmly. "You didn't do it out of respect for Potter. Try and understand that he didn't extend you the same courtesy."

She doesn't say anything, just cries some more, so I continue.

"He's a fucking knobhead," I press. "He never deserved you. If you hadn't burst in on them, that bell end probably would have slept with her. He's a prick; end of story."

"But Ginny…Gods she was my best friend; she means everything to me."

I clench my jaw. I acknowledge immediately that I have no right to, since I know Weasley about one hundredth as well as Leolin does, but I want to say, _I know the feeling._

"You don't need friends like her," I say instead.

I try to tell myself the same thing—you don't need a girl like her—and while that's true, I don't _need_ her, that realisation only makes me _want_ her more.

A hideous, hideous feeling crawls up my throat, and I know what it is. Toska, Drake always calls it. A bitter longing for what might have been. When I think about Weasley again, about that hitherto unclaimed smile, I practically overcome with it.

I glance over at Lefevre, who is, by this point, barely holding it together, and I feel guilt on top everything else. She just got cheated on and lost her best friend, and I'm over here feeling sorry for myself that some girl I only had one proper conversation with is never going to smile at me.

She gets up, and I do the same.

"It's almost four," she announces. "I should go to bed."

I should hug her, I tell myself, though I'm really not one for physical affection. She seems to sense this, and she doesn't wait for one.

"Goodnight," she says quietly, and I nod.

"Night," I repeat.

I watch her trudge miserably to the girls side dorms, and I call after her.

"Leolin?"

She turns.

"It's going to be alright," I tell her, reassuring myself as much as anyone. "I promise."


	3. Part III

**Like a Lonely House-A Love Story Told in Nineteen Parts**

* * *

Part III

* * *

Just as I'm sitting down to breakfast, I hear a word I've be secretly desperate to hear for weeks. _Weasley_. My heart immediately jumps to my throat, and I fight to remain impassive.

"Weasley?" I repeat, and I can hear the eagerness in my voice. "Which one?"

Adrian bites his lip and raises his eyebrows mirthfully.

"Lefevre and Weasley are getting back together," he tells me.

Thank the _stars_. If they'd have been talking about her brother, I would have bloody lost my mind. I ignore Adrian and turn to Leolin instead.

"Are you?" I demand, all attempts to seem nonchalant pretty much forgotten.

I've been waiting for this news for ages, praying that their friendship was stronger than Lefevre's admittedly annoying indulgence of Draco's prejudices. I knew she wouldn't listen to him forever, though, I assure myself, feeling triumphant despite the fact that nothing's actually changed yet. I glance over to the Gryffindor table where Weasley's just sat down. Even the fact that she's sitting next to Granger doesn't dampen my good mood.

"What is wrong with you?" Leolin snaps at Adrian, punching him hard in the arm.

I ignore them; they're constant bickering makes me want to rip my own eardrums out.

"Ooh, touchy!" Adrian continues, unable, as always, to simply let her be. "Darling, I think you better let Draco fu—"

Draco shakes his head, silently warning Adrian not to say another word. I'm frankly surprised he's gotten away with as much as he has; no one is generally allowed to tease Leolin when he's around, and Adrian's had to get pretty creative about slagging her off. I watch Weasley tuck some copper hair behind her ear and smile—Merlin, that _smile_ —at something that stunted ape Finnegan says. Still, she looks slightly sad, and we all know why; she and Leolin miss each other. I know Drake can see it too, and honestly, I don't understand how he can profess to love her and still feel okay about trying to keep her and Ginny apart.

"Lefevre!" I demand. "Are you and Weasley getting back together or not?"

"Maybe," she says. "We'll see."

"No we won't," Draco amends, looking pointedly at Leolin. "Don't listen to Pucey, Z, you know he's full of shite. Leolin's not to go anywhere near Weasley."

"You can't make this decision for me!" Leolin snaps at Draco, who mutters, "the hell I can't."

"But you don't…hate her anymore, right?" I press, heart rate elevating as my mind begins creating wild scenarios. Honestly, Weasley just has this insane ability to make me act and feel crazy. And the really crazy part is, I can't seem to get enough of it. Blaise Zabini, emperor of indifference, conoisseur of distain, pulled completely undone by a girl who's never even bothered to smile at him. It's pathetic, I know that, but somehow I don't really care.

Leolin doesn't answer my question, she's too busy eying Weasley longingly now, too, so I continued. "You won't mind if I—"

She cuts me off by holding up a hand.

"She isn't interested, Blaise. Give it up."

"But if you _do_ reunite with her—" I say, already entertaining a completely absurd scenario where the four of us are all good friends.

"Pack it in, mate," Adrian adds, probably still sore at being silently told off by Draco. "Nobody fucking cares."

I let this comment glance off my back—I sincerely don't care what Adrian thinks—but I scowl at Leolin's response. It bothers me that despite everything, she still doesn't think I'm good enough for Weasley.

"Whatever," I say sullenly. "Draco will never let you make up with her anyway."

Leolin turns to give me an ugly look that I return. I've always had her back; is it really too much to expect her to have mine? She obviously thinks Weasley's class; it shouldn't bother her so much that I agree.

I steal another glance over to the Gryffindor table to find Weasley's actually looking in my direction. Well, technically she's looking in Leolin's direction, but when she realises I've caught her, she glances at me, seeming almost sheepish. I watch the flush creep up her cheeks. Embarrassed is so charming on her.

She doesn't give me the frown I've come to expect when she catches me looking at her, and instead she meets my gaze steadily for several seconds. I would pay a billion galleons to hear what she's thinking right now. I revel in the attention, however brief, as I furiously try to decide my next move. Should I smile, or maintain the rare upper-hand by looking away as if I don't care? I've never really tried playing hard to get with her, mostly because it feels like it would be a wasted campaign. I don't get enough face time for that to work. Besides, I don't feel like I could pull it off; she's too magnetic.

I know she's eventually going to get fed up with our little staring contest and look away, but just as I decide to just smile at her and see where that gets me, her sodding brother plops down next to her, giving me an incredibly nasty look. I wonder if he knows it was me that melted his cauldron and lost him thirty points in Potions the Monday after Potter cheated on Lef. I assume he must, unless he's actually as stupid as he looks; I didn't make any big secret about it.

He leans over to whisper something in his sister's ear—honestly, how the _hell_ did those two creatures emerge from the same gene pool—still giving me the evil eye. She looks at me again in response to whatever he's said, and her gaze is back to being frigid. Ronald, that fucking twat.

"You're right," I hear Draco say, and I turn back to the conversation at my own table. "I'm sorry, darling. If you think that making up with Weasley is best then of course I support you."

I glance at Adrian, who looks confused as well, and I watch his expression fade into mild disgust as Drake leans over to kiss Leolin in a manner that more suited to a soft core pornography than the breakfast table.

"For fuck's sake," he growls, rolling his eyes. "Give it a fucking rest."

I'm not watching them, though, because I know how Drake's mind works, and I know why he's doing what he's doing. I glance over to the Gryff table again to find I'm right; Potter's just arrived, and he looks about as pleased with the kiss as Adrian.

"Why would you do that?" Leolin demands, pushing Draco off.

I don't say anything—I have no interest in inserting myself any further into their drama—but I'm with Leolin. I find Drake's jealousy extremely tedious, and, more importantly, he's practically goading Potter to fight back in kind, and I have no desire to watch him kiss Ginny the way Drake just kissed Lef.

"I hate the way he looks at you," Draco sneers.

Oh here we fucking go. I glance at Adrian again, and he rolls his eyes as well.

"You used to look at me the same way," Leolin continues. "Worse, actually, and Harry never tortured you."

"That was different, obviously."

As I feel the fight escalating, I tune out and glance at Weasley again. Potter's got her arm around her now, and it may just be my own selfish agenda bleeding through, but she doesn't look entirely comfortable in his embrace. As I imagining what she'd look like in _my_ arms—and then, inevitably, what her hair would look like fanned across my dark pillow as I shag her into ecstasy, Adrian nudges me again. I reluctantly look back at him to find Draco and Leolin have temporarily stopped arguing, and that he's asked me a question.

"So you never told us," Adrien repeats. "How'd things go with Gracie?"

I shrug, and I can't hold back the smirk. I'm still a bloke, after all, and she may not be Ginny Weasley, but Grace is a very attractive girl.

"Honestly, it was brilliant," I admit. "The girl is incredibly flexible and she bloody knows what she's doing. Plus, the best part was that when it was over she just grabbed her things and left. Didn't even try to sleep over. She almost had me worried I didn't satisfy her, even though she shuddered and squealed through the whole thing."

As I describe the rest in somewhat ungentlemanly detail, I can't help but imagining Weasley again. What I wouldn't give to do those things to her. I look over at her for an unprecedented third time, it's too find she's looking at me again, too.

Maybe I will get the chance after all, I think arrogantly, and then after I can casually mention that my feelings for her are the best proof I have that my cold heart can love after all, and that I wouldn't mind having loads of beautiful, mixed-race children with her...

Just for something to, you know, talk about.

When she finally looks away again, blushing even more deeply than before. I feel a thrum deep in my chest.

My Ginny is back.

* * *

The agony I feel at watching Leolin and Malfoy together at the breakfast table is so acute, I feel like I would have to invent a new language just to put it into words. I'm still furious at her for the way she's been carrying on—it still makes me sick to think of them strutting back into the party last night in fresh clothes, presumably just to torture Harry—but I can see Malfoy's hand so clearly in all of her cruel antics, the anger is easily justified away.

Besides, more than angry, I mostly just feel _guilty_. I know I don't really have to as much anymore, all of their bullshite has allowed me to bow out from being the villain, at least in the arena of public opinion, but I still feel guilty all. the. damn. time. She shouldn't be with him, and the only reason she is is because first I couldn't be honest with her, and then I couldn't keep my selfish agenda in check and stay by her side when she needed me most. Not to mention the fact that if she hadn't burst in, I probably would have shagged her boyfriend. At least tried to, anyway.

I watch them for another second—she looks unhappy with him about something—and I grit my teeth.

I made them; I created a vacuum in her life, and left her defenseless and alone when she was at her most vulnerable. She would have been easy prey for any bloke with the cruel mind for such things, and Malfoy was no ordinary predator. He'd been lying in wait for months, waiting for his opportunity to strike. Like the snake emblazoned on his robes, he'd known just where the sink his fangs in to spread the poison the quickest, and just like that, she'd become his.

"You alright, Ginny?" Seamus says jovially, interrupting my hate-fueled shame spiral. "You look like someone's just cancelled Christmas."

I give a weak smile and tuck some hair behind my ear. He knows why I'm acting so forlorn; I'm pretty sure everyone does, they're too polite to say anything. That, and I don't get the sense anyone was ever very keen on my having a best friend in Slytherin, and secretly they're glad they don't have to like her for my sake anymore.

"Fine," I manage. "I just have double Transfig with the Slytherins today."

"That sounds dreadful," Lavender says. "Though I will give you a hundred galleons to transfigure Pucey into a cockroach and step on him."

She's wringing her napkin so tightly her knuckles are white as she watches the object of her loathing from three tables over, growling to herself as he tips his head back to laugh, unnaturally white teeth glinting. I watch Leolin punch him hard in the arm, and I can't hold back silent cheer for her, both as her friend and as a member of the female sex in general.

"No," Hermione interrupts. "We have to stop fighting! Haven't we lost enough House Points? Honestly, at this rate we'll be playing catch up the rest of the year!"

"Who cares about House Cup?" Seamus replies. "It will be worth it to lose if we keep Slytherin from it as well."

Hermione huffs and goes back to The Daily Prophet, and I turn to look at the Slytherin table. I wonder if Leolin asked her boys to start the prank war for her, or if they'd done it out of their own warped sense of loyalty to one another and to their house. Probably neither, I decide. More likely than not, it was Malfoy's idea; a way to keep Leolin separated from me disguised as a gesture of support.

I hate him, I think savagely. I wish I could drive a stake into his heart and watch all the light drain from his stupid eyes. One thing at a time, I remind myself. First I need to get Leolin back, then I can worry about dismantling their relationship. I know I shouldn't be thinking like that, it was my meddling that got me in this mess in the first place, and I should just focus on being friends with Leolin again. Still, I can't help her. I love her too much to let him devour her without a fight.

 _No, first things first, Weasley. Focus._

How am I going to get her to forgive me? I know she wants to reconcile, too, I can see it on her face, but I also know how intent Malfoy must be to keep that from happening. What I really need is an double agent. Someone that will give me access to their inner sanctum and run interference on Malfoy. That really only leaves me with...

A steal a glance over at their table in a effort to discreetly size up my would-be ally, only to find he's already looking at me, jade eyes glittering as he watch me. I blush as he studies me, like he's never seen before. This is the first time I've caught him staring at me in a while, and I feel a fluttering in my stomach. After what happened between me and Leolin, he'd started pretending I didn't exist. Could the fact he was looking at me again mean that Leolin had confided something in him about us? I didn't dare hope.

Still, I'm tempted to find out.

What would he want, I wonder, in return? He was a Slytherin, after all; they never give something for nothing. I suppose the more important question would be, what was I willing to give him? Before i could stop myself, I picture the contrast of his dark skin against mine as I ride him, imagine running my hands down his smooth chest, and a pleasant pit forms in my stomach. I can't help remembering what Leolin said about him having a talented tongue. I've never really—Dean hadn't been much good at _that_ , so I don't really get why girls are always going on and on about it. Zabini is still watching me, and I feel a faint tingling between my thighs. Maybe I'm ready to find out.

Just then Ron plunks down next to me, breaking my reverie. Oh my stars, did I just have a sex fantasy about Zabini? I'm losing my sodding mind.

"What does that twat want?" he says in reference to the object of my thoughts.

"Stupid blighter melted my cauldron a few weeks ago," he continues, grumbling. "I know it was him. What did I ever bloody do?"

"Nothing," I say, feeling guilty again. "It was to punish me."

"You didn't do anything wrong, darling," Lavender says from across the table, giving me a sympathetic look.

"Besides," Seamus adds. "Sort of hard to be the bad guy when you're up against those two."

He gestures over to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy's kissing Leolin as if he intends to shag her right there, in the Great Hall.

"Lovely," a voice echoes quietly, and I turn to see Harry approaching.

He looks drawn, and for a few seconds I feel my guilt being subsumed by anger for his sake. However, when I notice that Leolin and Malfoy have started arguing again, I realise the kiss was just another one of his petty manipulations, and I grit my teeth.

"Good morning," he says as he sinks down next to me, kissing my cheek.

I try not the stiffen too much, but I admit that despite Malfoy and Leolin's erotica display just now, I'm still a bit uncomfortable with being physically affectionate with him in public. Unlike Malfoy, I have no desire to flaunt our relationship in an effort to enflame jealousy and contempt.

This is still at the forefront of my mind as Harry slides an arm around me. It's not that I don't love him—I do, I know that now more than ever—but I suppose I expected his touch to thrill a bit more than it does. It's not that I don't like it, or that it didn't feel good when we finally had sex the night of the Slytherin-Hufflepuff party, but I always imagined love this true would be accompanied by blazing sexual chemistry.

Maybe that part is coming, I decide. After all, I plan on spending a very long time with Harry, so we have plenty of time to find out. I wish I had someone to talk to about this. I suppose I could go to Hermione, though I don't really fancy putting her in the middle. She is Harry's best friend, after all.

It's not Hermione's advice I want anyways, I admit to myself. It's Leolin's.

Of course it is.

I glance over at the Slytherin table one final time, eying Zabini with new determination. I don't care what it takes. I'm going to bend him like heated steel until he gives me what I want. Until he helps get me my Leolin back.

I just bloody hope he's ready.


	4. Part IV

Like a Lonely House—A Love Story Told in Nineteen Parts

* * *

Part IV

* * *

The minute Malfoy hits Cormac, I take off, knowing at once what I have to do. I admit as I wade through the crowd, furiously wiping at humiliated tears, that all I really want to is go to Gryffindor Tower and wait for Harry to come back from Hogsmeade with Oliver Wood. Still, I know that's not an option. This doesn't change anything—I still hate Malfoy, obviously—but I can't deny what he did for me. Besides, he's pissed drunk, and Cormac's a huge bloke; he's going to tear Malfoy to pieces.

"Excuse me!" I snap desperately as I continue looking around, fighting through the throng.

Please tell me they haven't left yet...

They haven't, I realise, and I breath a relieved sigh as I catch sight of Pucey and the younger Faulkner across the room.

"Zabini!" I call, practically tripping over Ernie McMillan's big feet as I scramble to get to him. "Blaise!"

He turns, frowning in confusion at my approach. I've never called him by his first name before.

"Weasley," he begins, drinking in my distress and the torn strap of my dress. "What—"

"It's Malfoy!" I burst, grabbing a hold of a small fistful of his sleeve. It's made from some outrageously soft cotton blend, and I try not to imagine how expensive it probably was. "You have to help him!"

"What's going on?" Liam, the tattooed one, says.

I'm admittedly glad to see him. He's of a size with McLaggen, and he seems fairly sober.

"I—" I start, and suddenly I realise I'm going to start crying again. "I was in the coat closet, getting ready to leave, but then McLaggen came in—"

I break off as I'm temporarily overwhelmed by a swell of humiliation. I don't want to admit to Zabini what he tried to do, but I can tell from his ugly expression he's already guessed.

"Draco stepped in, and they—"

"FIGHT!"

We all turn to look at Seamus, who's pointing towards the closet.

Zabini takes off immediately, and I follow him. For a bloke who's usually so mild, right now he's practically trembling with fury, and I can feel it rolling off of him like waves of heat. Everyone around us can feel it, too, and the the outer ring of the crowd, which is made up mostly of Ravenclaws and Slytherins, parts easily to let him through.

The inner ring, which is mostly Gryffindors, is decidely less pliant.

"Someone pull them apart!" I hear, and I think that's Lavender.

It must be really bad.

"Everyone _move_ ," Zabini demands, grabbing Colin Creevey by the collar and jerking him out of his path. "Now!"

With the help of the Faulkners, Zabini finally makes his way to the front, and I choke down another sob as I fight my way to his side so I can see as well.

Cormac looks like hell, one eye is swollen and I think his jaw might even be broken—it's sitting at a sickeningly incorrect angle—but he's gotten the upperhand, and he's pummeling Malfoy, who's lying unconscious beneath him.

Zabini draws his wand and blasts McLaggen back, sending up shrieks as he goes sprawling.

"Malfoy started it," Emerson Haley, Cormac's best friend, interjects, drawing his wand and pointing it at Zabini now.

"That's not how I heard it," Zabini snarls.

"You weren't there!" Emerson snaps back.

He's shaken up, I can tell.

"Are you saying you were?" Zabini says, grabbing Emerson by the collar.

Emerson's eyes flit over me, and then to the Faulkner's, who are standing over his shoulder.

"Teach him a lesson, Z," Liam Faulkner growls, and Leon and Adrian murmur their assent.

"Em!" Rodger Davies, another of Cormac's friends, call. "Help me! He needs Hospital."

Zabini tightens his grip on Emerson's shirt, sneering at him as he decides what he should do. Finally, he surprises me (and Emerson too, from his expression) by letting him go.

"Take him," he sneers.

Emerson stumbles back to where Rodger is reviving Cormac. Zabini watches him retreat before pointing his wand at Cormac's broad, heaving back.

" _Obliviate._ "

Emerson turns in horror, but Zabini doesn't flinch.

"If you breath a word of this to Pomphrey," he warns Emerson. "You'll have to answer to me personally."

I watch Emerson nod fearfully, tucking under Cormac's left arm as Rodger gets under his right. Together they manage to get him to his feet, and they disappear.

When they're gone, I hear Zabini take a steadying exhale before immediately going to knee next to Malfoy. I follow him.

Malfoy's breathing, but barely, and I feel sick to my stomach.

"We have to get him to the Hospital Wing, too," I say.

"No," Zabini snaps immediately, and I can tell he's starting to panic.

I glance down at Malfoy again and try to imagine how I would feel if I ever saw Hermione or Leolin like that. He doesn't say anything more, but I can see, even through his insouciant facade, how much this is hurting him. They're both prats, but I've watched them enough to know that they do care about each other.

"What do you mean, no?" I demand. "Zabini, he's barely breathing!"

"Drake can't afford to get caught fighting again," he said, running a hand over his closely cropped hair. "McGonagall told him last time that she would snap his wand if he got into any more trouble this year."

"Yeah, but look at him," Pucey says quietly. "He's fucked up."

"He's going to be fine," Zabini says, but I know he's talking to himself, not us. "We will get him back to the Slytherin Common Room and we'll figure something out. Liam, can you—"

Liam nods, carefully picking Malfoy up. He's coming around now, and he groans. His lips are the color of blank parchment, but when he coughs, they're stained with blood.

"Pans," Zabini says, straightening. "Go wake Leolin up. He's going to need her."

"Give him this," Pansy tells him, coming to his side and pressing a small bottle in his palm. "It's a pain killer."

Zabini nods, and he tosses it to Leon, who carefully tips it down Malfoy's throat.

"Go," he says to them. "I'll catch up with you."

The party has almost completely cleared out by now, and it's just me and the Slytherins left. Pansy nods, grabbing Gracie Boyle by the wrist. Gracie's watching Zabini, though, and I remember that Leolin mentioned they're dating now.

"Go," Blaise tells her sternly, and she looks sad, or annoyed, or maybe a little bit of both, as Pansy tugs her from the room.

We watch Liam carry Draco carefully through the door as well, and I can help but think it looks like a funeral procession as his brother and Pucey fall in line behind him.

When they leave, I realise it's just Zabini and me, and I suddenly feel exposed. I retreat over to a low couch a ways away and slump down on it. At first I think I might need to cry, but I realise I'm feeling too numb for that.

I try to push my strap back on my shoulder, but McLaggen tore it, and it droops back down.

"Here," he says quietly, drawing his wand and fixing it for me.

I nod my thanks and push it up, trying to avoid the scrutinising look he's giving me.

"Weasley," he says softly, careful not to touch me. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I say too quickly, looking away. "Nothing happened."

"That's not true," he says, kneeling at my feet so he can look me in the eye.

I get the feeling he's done this for someone else before.

"You can talk to me," he says in a gentle voice, and it's the weirdest thing, because I'm suddenly tempted to tell him everything. Not just about what happened tonight with Malfoy and McLaggen, but everything. My fears, my doubts, my dreams. Something about him is making me want to tear open my chest and show him my soul.

I think it's the way he's looking at me. He's concerned, obviously, there's a crease in his brow, but it's not a pitying look, like I'm some broken thing he wants to fix. It's more—protective, almost as if he wishes he could take my burden and bear it instead. Leolin's told me a million times that he's not the person everyone thinks he is, and for the first time, I can see she's right.

"It's my own fault," I mumble. "I knew McLaggen was trouble. I shouldn't have—"

"Listen to me," he interrupts in a stern voice. "This is not your fault. None of it."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I demand softly. "What am I to either of you?"

I mean him and Malfoy, and his eyes glitter. I can see his worry over Malfoy churning in them, but he seems to set that aside, at least temporarily, as he studies me instead. Right now, I feel like the only person in his universe, and its all at once terrifying and admittedly a bit thrilling.

"You're Leolin's person," he says. "And that means your ours, as well."

"I should go," I say, because I suddenly feel like I'm going to cry.

Not about McLaggen, though. About him. He looks so ungodly beautiful in the dim light of the room, and his loyalty to Leolin, his genuine concern for her happiness and for mine, is so powerful and pure, that part of me wants to fall into his arms and never leave. That is, until I think about Harry, whom I love and adore. I don't want this, and none of it's real, anyhow.

"I'll walk you back," he says.

"No," I say at once. "You should get back to Malfoy. He needs you."

I want to bite out something about him just trying to get into my knickers as well, just for good measure, just to prove I still don't like or trust him, but I know that isn't even close to being true, and after everything thats happened tonight, I don't have it in me to be caustic.

"I'm not going to leave you," he replies softly, summoning his blazer from the coat closet and draping it over my shoulders.

I nod gratefully, pulling the jacket a little tighter around me, and—when I'm sure he's not paying attention—breathing in its scent. It smells like some fantastic combination of citrus, amber, and molton chocolate, but it's not a cologne. It must be his body wash, I decide, and the thought of him applying it in the shower, _naked_ , makes me flush.

"Thanks," I say quietly, and he nods.

"C'mon," he says, holding the door for me.

The corridor is blissfully deserted, and it's pleasantly cool; it's a nice change from the Room of Requirement, which had been hot and, once everyone cleared out, smelled faintly of blood.

"You'll have to lead the way," he says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his olive green trousers. "I have no idea where Gryffindor Tower is."

Despite everything, I give a weak smile.

"You can't be serious."

He shrugs.

"Why would I? It's enemy territory."

"That's rich," I tell him.

Are we flirting, or bickering? I can't decide.

"Is it?" he replies, shrugging again. "I suppose I hadn't noticed."

We lapse into a silence, though I assume we're thinking about the same thing. I hope Leolin can convince him to change his mind and take Malfoy to the hospital wing. Despite how I feel about him, I would feel dead awful if he—

"I'm sorry," he says unexpectedly, interrupting the thought.

"About McLaggen?" I ask quietly, crossing my arms protectively over my chest.

Honestly, I don't want to think about it. This sick shame bubbles up every time I do, and I feel better just pushing it down instead.

"Well yes," he says. "But I meant about Drake. I know you two had a pretty nasty row earlier."

I can tell by the tone of his voice he knows the fight was Malfoy's fault.

"I don't know what Leolin sees in him," I blurt quietly. "You either, for that matter."

"He's not what everyone thinks he is," Zabini clarifies. "And I think you have to admit he does have his moments."

I blush, knowing he's right. Luckily, we've arrived at the portrait now, and I watch the Fat Lady and Zabini eye each other with distain.

I slide his blazer from my shoulders, offering it back to him.

"Thanks," I mutter, and he nods.

"Do me a favour," he says in return, tucking it under his arm and studying me again. "When you're ready, talk to someone about tonight. It's not good to keep things like that bottled up."

"Says the poster child for stoicism," I point out.

"That's right," he replies. "I am, so you know I know what I'm on about. And believe me, despite what the Ancient Greeks might think, suffering in silence isn't a virtue."

I nod again, because I don't know what else to say.

"When Malfoy wakes up—" I begin, and he give a small noise of assent.

"I will," he agrees.

I can hear the pain creeping into his voice.

"And tell Leolin that is she needs anything, I'm here for her."

I need to wake Hermione up. Malfoy's not going to die on my watch. After everything Zabini's done for me tonight, I owe him that much, at least.

"Of course," he says, jade eyes glittering. "Night, Weasley."

"Goodnight," I breathe, turning my back and disappearing through the portrait.

* * *

I don't think I slept more than an hour last night, and the little I did manage to get was far from restful. I kept falling back into a dream where McLaggen was beating Weasley the way he beat Drake, except that when I pulled him off, suddenly he was my first stepfather Adamo, and Weasley's my mother. It was at that point I kept waking up, heart pounding and drenched in cold sweat. Honestly, I'm not sure how Grace could stand it, but she didn't said a word, just held me until I'd fall back asleep and start the cycle over again. I know Drake and Leolin especially don't understand why I'm with her, but when we're alone, she really is different, and tonight I was grateful she was there.

Of course, there is the small fact that when I'd first wake up, I somehow kept imagining it was Weasley laying next to me, and I was disappointed every time I realised it wasn't. But that was a problem all it's own, and honestly it's too deep-seated for me to deal with right now. Still, being with her last night, feeling her let me in, even if it was only a little bit, really didn't help...

"Blaise? Get up, I need you!"

I sit up, thoughts of Weasley momentarily forgotten. Well, not forgotten, maybe, but pushed to the side. I need to focus on getting Drake out of the woods first. Then I can figure out what I'm going to do about Ginny and Grace.

I cross to the door and open it, unsurprised to see Leolin looking a pathetic mess. Her hair is all crazy and it's obvious she's been crying in the last ten minutes. Seeing her distress makes my heart—which is already pretty ragged from all of last night's drama—leap to my throat.

"What's going on? How's Drake?"

"I need to get Hermione," she tells me. "Go and sit with him while I get Archie."

I try not to curl my lip at the mention of Granger's name since I know, rationally, I should be grateful for her help, and because I admit I don't actually have a good reason for disliking her, besides finding the fact she's got Muggles for parents incredibly off-putting. Maybe it's not even that her parents are Muggles so much as the fact that despite having no magical blood, she's still the best witch in our year.

"Alright," I agree, grabbing a Slytherin green jumper from my bed and shrugging into it before heading to Drake's room as she heads off to the girl's side.

If I'd be expecting Drake to look better than last night, I'm sorely disappointed. He's pale and sweating when I walk in, and he's even trembling slightly. Whatever Granger tried last night didn't work, and he's in a bad place again.

"Hey mate," I say, forcing my voice flat. If it were me, I wouldn't want Drake freaking out and fawning over me. That's what the girls are for, anyways. "How are you feeling?"

"Been better," he admits, trying to laugh. He ends up coughing instead, and I can see blood on his hand as he pulls into away from his mouth, though he tries to hide it.

The door opens and its Grace, wearing nothing but one of my school button downs. She's lucky I'm so much taller than her, or her arse would be hanging out.

"Hey Drake," she says quietly, hanging back away from the bed. I can tell she's extremely squeamish, and she is trying to be as supportive as she can without jeffing.

"Gracie," Drake replies. "Nice trousers."

She laughs at the fact she isn't wearing any, but there's no merriment in it.

"How do you feel?" she asks.

"Incredibly hungover," he replies, and she gives another faint smile.

Leolin appears just then, and I think we're all frankly a bit surprised when Grace hugs her and she doesn't freak out or push her off. Instead, she hugs her back, and I can't resist glancing at Drake. Maybe we're getting ready to usher in a new era of friendship between them, and I try to decide if I like that idea or hate it.

Grace takes Leolin's hand and tugs her forward before nudging me out of the way so Leolin can take my place at Draco's side. I watch her kneel down, like a monk at prayer, before taking Draco's hand and kissing it.

"Draco?" she asks quietly.

"Leolin?" he responds, mocking her like always. However, even saying it tapers the evenness of his breathing, and when he tried to take a deep breath, he winces.

"Hermione's on her way," Leolin whispers, and I felt something odd tugging at me as I watch her smooth his hair back. As fucked up as their relationship so often seems to be, in moments like this there is really no denying how much they love each other, and it's hard not to feel a bit—I can't believe I'm even thinking this, but— _jealous_.

Leolin's giving him this look, this pining look, like she'd tear her still-beating heart out of her chest if he needed it. And while yes, I would ordinarily find that level of devotion vomit-inducing, today I get it. Trauma has this crazy way of stripping away everything but the essentials, and it forces you to face what you need. I can telling watching them how much they need each other, and I can't help but wonder what that feels like.

"Can…" Draco croaks. "Can we be alone for a second?"

I nod, taking Grace's hand.

"I'll go wait for Granger," I tell them, giving Drake a knowing look. "C'mon, Grace."

"He looks like Hell," she says meekly when we're safely out of earshot.

"I know," I admit, sinking down onto the couch and rubbing my temples.

"Are you alright?" she says quietly, sitting next to me and touching my back. "You were tossing and turning all night last night."

"Don't worry about me," I say, not wanting to get into it.

I've never told anyone but Drake what happened between Adamo and my mum, and I certainly don't feel like getting into it now. Besides, I can tell what Grace is really angling for is details about what happened after the party last night between me and Weasley, and that's not something I'm eager to share with her, either.

Just as she opens her mouth to press, Weasley herself walks in, Granger trailing behind. I stand at once, trying not to drink her in too deeply as I do. Grace can be a real bitch when she's jealous, and that's the last thing I fucking need right now. Still, it's hard for me to set aside what went down between us last night, even though Weasley immediately gives me a frigid look to indicate she's over it. I wonder if she took my advice told Potter the truth about McLaggen. The dark pain in her eyes makes me think she didn't.

"How is he?" Granger interrupts.

She's no dumby; she seems to know—or maybe she's just guessed—that I was the one who saw Ginny home safely last night, and ever Potter's loyal servant, she's not going to give me a chance to potentially escalate things. _As if I even could,_ I think derisively. My bloody girlfriend is standing two feet from us.

"See for yourself," I tell her, unable to resist throwing another glance Weasley's way before heading back to Drake's room.

"How do you feel?" Granger asks the second we get there, pushing past me to touch his forehead.

I can tell he's taking no pleasure in being touched by her, and I don't blame him. She then goes on to prod his side, and he cries out in pain.

"What the fuck!" Drake snaps.

"The wound didn't suture properly," she says, "It's getting infected; that's why he has a fever. And he's bleeding internally again."

"Merlin, Granger," Blaise sneer, glad for something as familiar as fighting with her to distract me from the severity of what she just said. "what kind of shite healer are you?"

"I'm not a healer at all!" she bites back. "And I'm doing the best I can, but he needs medical care! _Real_ medical care."

"You've done amazing," Leolin says. "Is there anything more you can do?"

Granger frowns, and I can practically see her tallying all the stupid rules she's breaking in her head.

"I can re-suture the puncture hole, but that's only a temporary fix. We're also going to next to flush the blood…"

I watch the colour drain from Drake's cheeks, and Grace squeezes my hand. She damn near fainted last night when he vomiting it all up.

"It has to be done," Granger tells Leolin.

"How can he afford to lose this much blood?" Grace asks. "After the fight itself and last night…"

"That's another part," Hermione said. "I'm going to need all of you, and anyone else you can gather up, to take a test. Malfoy's blood type is rare and he's going to need a transfusion."

I glance at Drake who, despite everything, gives me a wry grin.

"Make sure they're a pureblood, Z," he croaks.

I give him a grim smile.

"I'd do by best, mate," I promise. "I will go get everyone. Granger, do what you can here then come down and perform the spell. I'll have everyone assembled."

"Wake up the girls," I tell Grace as she follows me into the common room again.

"Which ones?" she asks.

She practically has to run to keep up with my long strides.

"All of them," I say solemnly. "I want everyone here in ten minutes. Anyone who complains or gives your lip service has to deal with me. Capisce?"

She nods, hurrying up the girls stairs as I had right towards the boys. I start with the first years' door and make my way up, pounding on the wood doors and calling, "Everyone out of bed. _N_ _ow."_

By the time I get to the sixth years, most everyone is awake.

"Oh, what the fuck's this about?" Adrian demands, looking irritated as I rip the covers off his bed. How did I just _know_ he was going to be the one to be a pain in the arse about this?

"Drake needs a blood transfusion, so we're doing typing. Get up," I say, pulling the covers off Leon's bed as well. However, he's clever enough to keep his gob shut about it. Adrian, predictably, is not.

"I'm good, thanks," he mutters into his pillow, turning his back to me.

"If you don't get your sorry cunt downstairs in three minutes, I will send Lef up here to deal with you."

"As if I care what that bitch thinks," Adrian replies, and I'm tempted to draw my wand and hex him.

"Then maybe I'll just tell Astoria."

I admittedly don't really understand his obsession with her, beyond knowing he's the type of slimy bloke who _would_ see sisters as a set of matching sexual trophies, but somehow it's enough to get him vertical, and right now that's all I care about.

"Two minutes," I call, heading for the seventh years' room. "And not another fucking _word_ out of you, Pucey."

When I've roused everyone, I go to the second story balcony that looks down into the belly of the common room, watching with grim satisfaction as the whole of Slytherin filters in. It feels good to have something under my control, especially when everything else is in such a state of freefall. Grace comes to stand next to me, and I can tell she likes it, too.

"Your subjects await, my lord," she says, kissing my cheek.

I know this is where she feels she belongs, at the very top of the Slytherin class system, reigning supreme. Maybe that's why she doesn't like Leolin; as long as she's with Drake, the top spot will always be hers. Or maybe her dominance doesn't have to do with Drake at all, I decide, as she sweeps back into the room, arm in arm with Weasley. I admit she's fairly magnetic in her own right.

I wonder, as I watch Weasley survey the crowd, if Gryffindor has a caste system as rigid as ours. Probably not, I assume, eying Granger again. If Slytherin is home to the Second Estate, the upper echelon, then Gryffindor's the dumping ground for the unwashed masses; the stinking, screaming proletariat.

Before I can stop myself, I imagine how beautiful Ginny would look in Slytherin green, and I indulge in quick fantasy where I rescue her from her humble roots and elevate her to my station. She is a pureblood, after all, and from an old family, at that.

I notice her looking at me, and despite everything else, I fight not to smirk at her. I can tell she's trying savagely to hide it, but she can't quite help but be impressed by me. Finally, I tear my eyes away, both because I can feel Grace watching me again, and because we need to get this freak show underway.

"Alright," I start, surveying everyone as if they are boring and beneath me. They won't listen to me if they don't fear me; Drake taught me that. "Some of you know what happened by now, but if you don't, all you need to know is Draco's hurt and needs a transfusion. If you're willing, Granger is going to test you to see if you can donate. If you don't think you can handle that, I understand and no judgment."

I pause for half a second, narrowing my eyes and letting the insinuation that this is _not_ , in fact, an option sink in.

"However," I continue finally, when I'm confident my message was received. "If one of you says so much as one cross word to her," I point to Granger. "you answer to me."

I turn my finger back on myself, letting my voice go deadly flat. I'm not asking them to like—Merlin knows I find her as insufferable as anyone—but today is not a day I'm willing to tolerate dissension in the ranks.

"Any questions?" I ask at last.

Much to my grim satisfaction, no one moves.

"All of you?" I confirm, and when silence reigns again, I nod and motion for them to queue up.

"If Granger says she doesn't need you, get out," I add, trotting down the stairs into the main space."I don't need all of you stupid first years clogging up the common room. Pucey," I say, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him to the front of the line. If he thinks he's going to challenge my authority just because's Drake's out, he's dead fucking wrong."You can go first."

He gives me an ugly look that I return.

"Problem?" I demand.

He glances over my shoulder, and I know without turning Astoria must be watching our exchange.

"Not at all," he snaps, slapping a first year out of the way and extending his arm to Granger even as he continues to glower at me.

Satisfied, I turn to Leolin and Weasley, and while I initially try to look predominantly at Leolin, old habits are dying hard, and I find myself studying Weasley's reaction to me instead. I can't deny that some part of me is desperate to hear her admit she's impressed by what I've managed to accomplish. She doesn't though, just like I knew she wouldn't.

"We protect our own, Weasley," I tell her instead. "Just like you lot. That's something for you to keep in mind if you ever decide you wanted to join us."

She blushes prettily, and I want to swallow her whole. I try to remind myself that first, she needs space after what happened to her last night, and second, she's still busy dating the Boy Wonder and, it would seem, hating my guts, but I can't help it. She let her walls down, however briefly, last night, and now that I've been inside them, I'm desperate to go back and never leave.

"As always, Zabini, your timing is completely inappropriate," she snaps.

She's looking at something above me, and it's only then do I even remember I have a girlfriend. Merlin's beard, I am a shite boyfriend, especially because in this moment, I can't bring myself to care Grace is watching us. It's only Weasley's frigid look that keeps me from pressing her openly.

"Leolin," Granger calls. "Blaise, Ginny, I need you three."

Leolin and I go first, but neither of us is a match. Finally Weasley extends her arms, and Granger stops.

"Oh, c'mon!" Weasley whines. "You have to be bloody kidding me!"

I can't help but smile a little as she sits downs, rolling up her the sleeve of what looks like a homemade jumper. I wonder: if I married her, would her mum knit me one, too?

"Wipe that stupid look off your face," She snaps at me, wincing as Granger jabs a needle in her arm.

"There is an irony here that I can't help but enjoy," I admit mildly. "And I did promise Draco a pureblood."

"I hope all your damn babies are redheads," she snaps at Leolin, who smile half-heartedly before abruptly getting up and wandering away to the couch.

"What's up with her?" I ask, and Weasley and Granger both shrug.

"She's probably just mega stressed," Ginny offers, wincing again.

Hardly any blood is filling the bag.

"Ginny," Granger says. "You need to squeeze something. It will make the blood pump faster."

Immediately I see an opportunity and take it, extending a hand for her to hold. The thought of her touching me has pushed my heart into my throat, and I swallow to force it back down.

"In your dreams," she sneers at me, but Granger gives her a reproving look, and finally Ginny begrudgingly wraps her hand around my palm, flexing her fingers.

"Better," Granger confirms, and for once I agree.

This is better. Better than I could have imagined. The minute our fingers touch, a jolt runs up my arm, and my heart is pumping tons of blood to my brain, making me feel deliciously light-headed, like I've just drunk a case of wine. No, not a case of wine. a case of her, of Weasley. I'm intoxicated by her, and I lose touch with everything in the world that isn't her. Even Drake seems to slip away. I wish she would lower her guard again.

Slowly, I let my fingers slither up along the back of her palm, ghosting softly against her knuckles.

"Stop that," she hisses, a little breathless.

I know she must be feeling it,too. She can't _not,_ I assure myself. It's like an electric current, and to be this strong, there has to be a conductor on her end as well.

"Stop what?" I ask, throwing caution to the wind as I study her face.

What must it be like to kiss those lips? I'm desperate to find out.

"Stop doing that with your hand. It's—" she licks said lips, looking away to fend off a fantastic blush. "It's distracting."

"Is it?" I say absently, not stopping.

I know I promised myself that I'd give her space, but she's drawing me toward her, like a magnet. I catch Granger watching our tête-à-tête, and she gives a me disapproving frown. As if I give a damn what _she_ thinks.

"Yes," Ginny confirms, still squeezing my fingers. "Extremely."

"My apologies, then," I tell her, leaning in slightly. Merlin, I swear she must be part veela.

"Okay," Granger says finally. "We're good."

Immediately, Ginny wrenches her hand from mine, as if I've burned her.

"Get this damn thing out of my arm," she snarls.

"Stand up slowly," Granger warns her, pulling the needle out and putting a bandage over the small puncture hole. "You don't weigh very much, and you gave a lot of blood."

However, ever the bullheaded Gryffindor, Weasley doesn't listen, and instead she jerks up the minute she's free. The dizziness hits her immediately, and I instinctually grab her as she crumples.

"Weasley," I scold her, even as my heart starts racing again. She really is tiny, and I can't help but notice how good her skin looks next to mine. "Could you be a worse listener?"

I try to fight it off, given everything that's going down right now, but in the end I can't quite fend off the smile that tugs at my lips. For the first time in my life, I swear I'm home.

"Get off, you cretin!" she demands, struggling away from me. "Go find your Slytherin girlfriend."

I know better than to push her, and she's right, Grace is still watching us. Today isn't the day for any grand gestures.

"As you wish," I tell her instead, already day-dreaming about the next time I'll be allowed to hold her again.


	5. Part V

Like a Lonely House—A Love Story Told in Nineteen Parts

* * *

Part V

* * *

I realise, as I watch Grace across our romantically lit table, that I'm nervous. I didn't expect to care—it's hard to stand in awe of the sanctity of marriage when your mother's walked down the aisle seven times—but my palms are sweating, and the ring box in my pocket is beginning to feel more like a lead weight.

Is it a bad sign that the thought of actually getting down on one knee and asking her to marry me is making me want to vomit?

Not necessarily, I tell myself. It's just nerves, and lots of blokes get them. What is there to really feel sick about?

After all, it's only forever.

And if not, Merlin knows there's always divorce. At this point, my mother's practically turned it into a find art.

The thing is, though, I don't _want_ to get divorced. Not that anyone does, I suppose, but I've seen my mum tank enough marriages to know how it chips away at you. Maybe it's the perfectionist in me, or the optimist, but I want to get it right the first time; no mistakes, no do-overs.

And I have, I assure myself. I care about Grace, and she makes me happy. Well, as happy as an spoiled, jaded, ungrateful prat like me can be, I suppose. In any case, we work well together, and when I imagine what our future will look like, I'm generally very content with what I see.

I know Drake and my mum don't agree—in fact their both rather fond of questioning what, if anything, Grace and I have in common—but honestly, what do either of them know about what a healthy relationship should look like? I've already heard the first strings of the now-familiar divorce overture resonating between Mum and August, and despite professing to love Leolin with everything he is, was, and ever sodding will be, Drake's still be sneaking around with Severina Borgia behind Lai's back.

I would never admit it to him—I honestly hate admitting it to myself—but its bothers me he doesn't approve of my proposing to Grace. Or at the very least, that he can't be supportive. I know he doesn't understand my decision, but we made a tacit agreement a long time ago that we'd always be in the other's corner, and I wish he would get over himself and just get in mine.

I clench my jaw, getting annoyed about it all over again.

When I'd shown him the ring, the only thing he'd said was, "Weasely'll be devastated."

I realise it shouldn't have bothered me, but it's a sore spot—it always has been—and I could have killed him for bringing it up.

I watch Grace run a finger around the rim of her wine glass and smile at me, and before I can stop myself, I wonder what Weasley _would_ think if she knew what I was about to do.

Nothing, I admit sourly. I can't deny that I thought when she broke up with Potter that maybe—but then she turned right around and started dating that prat Oliver Wood, and I knew I had to build myself a bridge and get the fuck over it already. It wasn't worth risking what I had with Grace, and I was frankly tired of feeling like the ugly girl at the ball. If she wanted to date smarmy twats all her life, that was her problem, and after tonight, it was truly none of my concern.

"Galleon for your thoughts," Grace interrupts, reaching across the table to take my hand. She really does look very pretty tonight. She'd wearing this velvet thing she just bought at Leolin's stepmum's shop, and I wonder as I admire it if she knew what she was dressing up for when she put it on. "You look a million miles away."

I smile, refilling both our glasses of champagne. Dinner is winding down, and I'm realising I'm not as buzzed as I'm going to need to be for what's coming next.

"Not at all."

"Are you worried about Leolin? Honestly, I can't believe what a swine Draco's being."

I can't help laughing a little. It's extreme out of character for Grace to defend Leolin.

"I didn't know you cared so much, darling."

She huffs, dark eyes sparkling. I imagine waking up to them for them every morning for the rest of my life, and my stomach clenches. I take another healthy swallow.

 _Relax, Z,_ _it's just nerves._

"Lef might not be my favourite," she continues. "But I'd say even she deserves a little better than this."

I finish my glass and start another.

"Agreed," I say.

"Do you really think he's sleeping with Borgia?"

"I don't know," I answer honestly, and the thought makes me a little queasy. Unlike Grace, Leolin's feeling do mean something to me, though evidently not enough to tell her what's been going on.

I promised Drake I wouldn't talk to her about tonight until he had a chance to, but the temptation lingers. She's my friend, after all, and if I were her, I'd want someone to lean on. Though, I suppose she has Weasley...

Immediately I feel something all at once pleasurable and painful sloshing in my heart, and I push Weasley out of my head at once.

"Let's not talk about them," I suggest, suddenly just wanting to get it over with. "Tonight's about us."

She smiles and raises her glass to mine, and they sing as they touch.

"I love you," she murmurs, and in lieu of responding, I lean over to kiss her.

"Should we go for a walk?" I say as we pull away, snapping to our waiter and pantomiming my signature.

"Where?" she asks, half-laughing.

"There's a garden out back," I tell her. "It's really beautiful."

That's actual why I brought her here; I figured a garden is as romantic a spot as any to get engaged, and it's decently private. Besides, Drake loves Domus Aurea, and I know he always planned on proposing to Leolin here. Considering what a sod he's been about this whole thing, it felt like a pretty good way to pay him back.

"It has a garden?" she replies, smile widening even as she blushes a little. "And just when I thought it couldn't get any fancier."

I can't tell, by the way she's said it, if she's embarrassed or pleased. We never really talk about it, but her family isn't rich like mine. I mean, they aren't the Weasleys or anything, but unlike the rest of our housemates, I'm pretty sure she's never holidayed in Switzerland or had a servant. She will now, though, minus the servant bit. I can't stand always having someone living in my house, following me around and bowing and scraping at my feet, especially considering how much they inevitably resent you behind your back. Still, we certainly had my fair share growing up.

"C'mon," I say, signing the glittering Gringotts note the waiter holds out to me before standing and offering her my hand.

She smiles and accepts, and I try not to tense when she threads her fingers through mine. My hands are sweaty enough as it is.

I lead her out the back door to the garden, and I thank Merlin when I realise we're completely alone. The last thing I want or need is a bleeding audience.

"It's lovely," she says in awe as we traipse down the gravel path that's been laid between the immaculately trimmed hedges.

"So are you," I tell her honestly, and she laughs.

"Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?" she demands, playfully shoving me. "If you need a loan, you're going to have to ask Drake."

"I'm serious, Grace," I say, sidestepping her comment. "And you know I think you're beautiful."

"I know," she says, blushing a little now. "But you're not usually this—"

"This what?" I says, trying not to feel a little offended. All and all, we're not off to a spiffing start.

"I don't know," she laughs, squeezing my hand and smiling at me when she realises she's insulted me. "Forthcoming! You're usually so stoic."

I want to protest, but its true, I'm a grumpy bastard, so I drop it before it can turn it into a whole thing. I certainly don't want or need an argument.

"Right," I say, trying to get back on track. "Well be that as it may, I want to say something."

"Um," she says, laughing again. "Alright, go ahead."

I nod and stop to turn and face her.

"So I know our relationship started out—unconventionally," I begin, and she laughs, blushing. I get the sense she might finally know what we're doing here. "But I really care about you, Grace, and when I'm with you, I feel like I'm a better version on myself. Or a less grouchy one, at any rate."

She laughs again, and I start wishing I'd thought through what I was going to say more. Still, she's smiling, which feels like a good sign, so I decide to just cut to the chase. I fish in my pocket for the ring box, and her hands fly to her mouth when I get down on one knee. I feel like a proper twat, and I silently invite whichever masochist thought this bit up to sit on a wand.

"Grace Marie Boyle," I say, popping open the lid and showing her the sapphire. "Will you marry me?"

She's beaming, and I feel the relief flooding in. Thank _Merlin_. I pull the ring out of the box and go to slip it on her finger—I really hope I got her size right—when she pulls away slightly.

"Wait," she says softly, touching my shoulder.

"What is it?" I ask, and I can feel my mouth going dry.

"Why do you love me?" she asks quietly. She's not smiling anymore. "And please don't say because you think I'm beautiful."

I _really_ wish I wasn't still on one knee; I don't think I've ever felt so stupid.

"I—" I stammer, knowing I have about a two second window to answer this question correctly.

I look up at her, ready to give my reasons, when Ginny Weasley inexplicably pops into my head, and my traitorous heart starts beating a little faster. It's absurd and unfair, I acknowledge, because Grace is my lover, and my confidant, and the would-be mother of my children, and Ginny is virtually a stranger, and a rather unfriendly one at that. Still, all I can think about is the fact I never got that smile, and that thought, that one, stupid, selfish thought, completely robs me of the ability to form thoughts, let alone words.

Grace has tears in her eyes now, and when she looks down at her shoes, I watch several of them fall.

"That's what I thought," she whispers, and I struggle to my feet, still somehow desperate to right this ship before it sinks. It's no use; I'd have better luck emptying the Thames with a sieve.

"Grace—" I begin, but she backs away, shaking her head.

"Please don't," she said, fighting down sobs.

"But I—" I begin, but she's shaking her head more vigorously now.

"But you don't though, can't you see?" she says, more tears running down her cheeks and streaking her mascara. "If you did—" she chokes on a sobs. "If you did," she repeats more firmly. "You wouldn't have needed to think about it."

"That's not true—"

"Yes it is," she says in anguish, and I don't think I've ever felt more like a villain. This must be what it's like to be Drake, I think snidely, desperate for someone to lash out at so I don't have to dwell on how much I hate myself. "And we both know it."

I reach out to touch her and she shies away, wiping at her ruined makeup.

"Please," she says desperately. "Don't."

"Grace, darling, _please_ —"

"Don't follow me," she whispers in response, and before I can protest, she disapparates, leaving me standing like an idiot with the ring box still in my hand. When she's gone I slump down onto the edge of the pool, staring at the ring. What the _fuck_ just happened? More accurately, what have I done?

I feel sick with guilt, and bitterly I fight it off.

I need to get out of here.

I think of where I can go. The Em, certainly, though it's admittedly the last place (besides here) I want to right now. I could just go home, I suppose, but I admit I don't really want to be alone. I consider going to Drake's, but when I remember he was right about Grace and me, an anger flares up. Besides, he's probably still busy cheating on the girl he's never deserved, and that only serves to make me more mad.

That's where I realise I need to go. Misery loves company, after all, and I know after finding out about Drake and Severina tonight, there are probably few people more miserable than Leolin. It's selfish, I know, but I still can't seem to get Weasley out of my fucking head, and I'm desperately hoping that seeing Leolin will help put things in prospective.

Another wave of sickening guilt washes over me, but I've already made up my mind, and I squeeze my eyes and disappear with a pop, hoping I've remembered the address of her parents' new place correctly. I've never been there, after all, and she gave me the invitation weeks ago. Still, when I reappear in front of a classic French chateau, I know I'm in the right spot. I hurriedly knock on the door, ignoring their stuffy butler as I practically shoulder him inside.

"The party began hours ago, Monseiur," he says curtly.

Servants, I'm bloody telling you.

"I had a prior engagement," I snap, no patience left to pretend to be polite. "Have you seen Miss Lefevre?"

He gives me a disapproving look, and I grit my teeth.

"I'm a friend from school," I tell him.

"She's rather fond of the gardens," he admits finally, and I sweep off, not bothering to say anything else.

Vaguely, I wonder if Weasley might even _be_ here tonight, but when I remember that if she is, she'll have brought Wood, I clench my jaw. I can hear Adrian's voice in my head. _Pack it in, mate. Nobody fucking cares._

Fuck Weasley, I decide savagely, knicking a bottle of champagne and a pair of flutes from a nearby barcart. She's nothing to me. Besides, that's not why I came.

I trot down the set of stone stairs which lead to the gardens, remembering Grace's dismayed expression and feeling terrible all over again. Merlin, maybe I ought to just go home. As I turn to leave, admitting this whole idea was ill-conceived and self-serving, I see someone sitting on one of the stone benches.

The old bastard was right. It's Leolin, wearing a resplendent gown and looking miserable.

Knock knock," I say, approaching her. "Can I come down and join you?"

I note with relief that Leolin doesn't look like she's been crying, though she does seem incredibly sad. We're quite the pair. I move to sit on the edge of a nearby fountain, pouring her a glass.

"You look lovely in that dress," I tell her as we clink glasses.

I mean it. She looks stunning, and I feel bad when I think about how she likely picked that dress for Drake. It's wasted on him, the stupid bastard.

"Thank you," she says, and I watch her take a generous swallow.

"So," I say finally. "I heard about earlier. Are you alright?"

"Draco told you?"

I nod.

"We don't keep secrets from each other."

"Did he send you to fetch me?" She asks, and I can't help but smile, if somewhat bitterly. I'm tempted to tell her that I'd like to punch him the face just as much as she would. Maybe more, though my motivations is admittedly less justified. The only thing Draco's guilty of on my score is knowing me too well. Still, I'm furious about it just the same, and I feel more than happy to take up her mantle for something to really seethe about.

"Just the opposite," I admit. "He told me not to speak to you until he had a chance to."

"But you came anyway."

"I figured tonight was probably a bitter potion to swallow. I knew you'd be hurting. How do you feel?"

She shrugs, and I can see her mentally talking herself down again.

"I don't know. Like a fool, I suppose. Draco told me he was sick and so I went over there to drop off some medicine. I can't believe I fell for that."

"It's not a crime to be trusting, Leolin," I tell her honestly. "Actually I think it's generally considered to be a virtue."

"Not for a Slytherin. Merlin, this has been staring me in the face all week. I can't believe I was stupid enough to miss it. Or to ignore it, I don't know."

"What are you talking about?"

She extends her glass for more champagne. I'm glad we're on the same page about getting legless tonight.

"Draco and Severina. He told me he didn't see her when he went to Rome last week and I believed him, but of course he did, and of course he's been with her all week."

I don't know what to say to that, since it's true, and I take a drink instead.

"Did you know?" She asks, and I feel terrible.

"About Severina?"

"Yes. I told Draco to tell you, but he made me promise to keep my mouth shut. I would have come to you otherwise."

"I know."

"What's going on with them?" she says quietly, and I know she's been dying to ask me that since I got here. "Do you know? Has Draco told you?"

"I know Severina wants there to be something between them, and badly," I admit. "Draco hasn't said a thing to me either way."

Normally I wouldn't reveal so much behind Drake's back, but Leolin's my friend, too, and after what happened earlier with Grace, I can't seem to outrun my own petty nature.

"What does your gut tell you?" she presses.

She knows the answer to that already, I can see it in her eyes. _Merlin_ , she looks sad.

"I don't want to mislead you."

"Go on Blaise, yes or no. Is he sleeping with her or not?"

I sigh.

"I don't know. But Draco told me that Fausto is the key to unraveling Lucius. That makes the Borgia essential to Draco."

"That's what I thought, too," she admits. "Besides, Draco was still getting dressed when I got there. That makes me think..."

"I'm sorry," I tell her earnestly. "I didn't come here to torture you about that."

"I know," she says. "And you're not. Maybe it's not my place to be upset, anyways."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I'm the one who keeps insisting he's not my boyfriend. Maybe he should be free to do whatever he wants."

"You don't really believe that," I said quietly, calling her bluff. She should know by now that she doesn't have to put on a face for me. "I know you don't."

"Maybe I ought to."

"It doesn't make you stupid or weak to be sad about this, Leolin. I know you still love him."

I think of the way she always looks at him—the way they're always looking at each other—and my stomach begins to ache. I wonder if Weasley looks at Wood that way.

"Well maybe it's time I stopped."

I don't say anything to this, and we lapse into silence instead.

"I thought you had a fancy date with Gracie tonight," she says at last, and it's just what I've been dreading. "You didn't have to blow her off for me."

"I didn't," I say, draining my glass.

I've decently drunk now, and a plesant stupor is falling over me.

"What's wrong?" she asks. "Did Gracie propose or something?"

I look down at my shoes, comtemplating how much I would pay to get a time turner and _not_ ask Grace to marry me.

"No," I tell her finally. "I did."

"You did _what_?" she demands. "Are you—should I be congratulating you right now?"

Not wanting to admit, out loud, that I'd been rejected, I produce the box again and show it to her.

"Why do you still have this?" she says, sounding horrified. "Did she say no?"

"She did indeed," I say, resisting the urge to chuck the ring box by tucking back into my breast pocket instead.

"Why did you do it?" she asks finally, and I once again can't help but be vexed by the faint shade of horror in her tone. Why was it so hard for everyone to believe I cared for Grace?

"I thought I was happy," I say honestly, pushing my bitterness aside. "Well, as happy as I was going to be, anyway. And I knew she'd be the perfect wife. I dunno, it seemed like it made sense."

"Why did she say no, though? Did she say she wasn't ready? Does she want to wait until after Hogwarts, or something?"

"No," I admit, finally getting the courage to look at her. "She broke up with me."

" _What_?"

"At first, when I got down on my knee, she was smiling, and I thought she was going to say yes," I explain, trying not to shudder at reliving it. "But then, right as I was ready to slip the ring on her finger, she asked me why I loved her. I froze. Damned if I couldn't give her one single reason."

She touches my back in what I assume is supposed to be a comforting gesture, but I can't decide if it is or not, mostly because we rarely have physical contact. It's sort of an unspoken agreement between me and Drake, and I don't mind; I'm not much one for any of that stuff anyways. Tonight, though, it feels good to stick it to him. He's probably doing much worse with Severina right now anyway.

"It's not your fault," she reassures me.

"Sorry lot we are," I say, and she smiles sadly.

"I'll drink to that."

"I'm sorry about Draco," I blurt again. I'm drunk now, no denying it. "I hope I'm wrong about him and Severina."

"I don't think you are," she says in a soft voice. "You said it yourself: The Borgia are Draco's best chance at destroying Lucius. Draco wouldn't give that up, even for me."

"You are incredibly important to him," I tell her, and it's true. If she asked him why he loved her, he wouldn't have had to think about it. "Don't sell yourself short."

"Sometimes, I think Draco just loves the reflection of himself he sees in me. Sometimes I wonder if he's really seeing _me_ at all."

I look at her, trying to decide how she could actually think that. He's not always good at showing it, I'll admit, but I know he worships the ground she walks on.

"If that's really true, he's the stupidest fucking bloke that ever lived," I bite out, and I mean it.

I glance down and realise, probably for the first time, what nice legs she has. I imagined them wrapped around my waist before mentally slapping myself.

"Like I said," she whispers. "I don't have the right to try and control him. He's not mine any more than I'm his."

"You don't mean that," I say, but suddenly I find myself wishing just the opposite.

Where is this coming from? Gods, I am going to Hell.

"What if I did?" she breaths, and I can't feel my heart rate elevating.

We can't do this, I remind myself immediately. She's with Drake, and I—

I nothing, I realise dully.

I'm single, and right now, I'm also feeling self-destructive. It's a dangerous combination, and the slit in her skirt is making it feel lethal. I don't want to do this, I reprimand myself, she's my best mate's girlfriend, and she's my friend as well. But when I think of Draco demanding I keep his secret about Severina, and about Grace, and about Weasley—fucking _Weasley_ —I feel myself being tugged back into whatever is radiating between us. I glance up at her, and the smouldering look in her eyes melts away all resistance.

I grab her neck and pull her toward me. Goddamnit, her perfume smells incredible. I hesitate only long enough to watch my last chance to stop this pass by before I bend down to kiss her.

I pull her off the wall into my arms, crushing her against me as I start kissing her neck. I try not to dwell on the fact that I'm about to find out if she's really in good in bed as Draco claims. I tangle my fingers in her hair, and for a second I allow myself to imagine its copper instead of chestnut.

However, the thought fanishes when she starts kissing my neck. Something hideous has begun beating on my chest from the inside as we continue going at it, but I try to ignore it when she unbuttons my first button and her long nails brush my collarbone. I slide a hand underneath her thigh, but suddenly she tenses, and the spell is broken.

And I thought I felt villainous before. Merlin, it's not compared to what I feel when I see the sadness and shame in her eyes.

"What the fuck am I doing?" I ask quietly, drinking in her misery. I wish I could take it from her and bear it myself."Draco's my best friend."

"I'm sorry," she whispers, and I wish she wouldn't apologise. Very little of this is her fault. In fact, if anything, her only fault is trusting people like me and Drake. "I shouldn't have dragged you into—"

"It wasn't your fault. I—" I assure her. "I kissed you. It wasn't just you. I—I wanted it, too." I look down. Even now I can't remember why I did it; the desire has already grown bone-chillingly cold. "Leolin, I'm so sorry. That was so hideous of me."

"No," she grits out. "You don't have to apologise. I should go, though. I—I need to go."

I watch her, feeling helpless.

"Leolin, wait, please—"

"Blaise, it's okay," she says, I can see she's getting ready to lose it. "Don't worry. I just have to get back."

I know I shouldn't let her go, but I just like earlier, I can think of a single thing to say, and I can see in her eyes how desperately she wants to get away from me. I don't blame her; I feel like fucking poison.

"Please don't tell Draco," she whispers, and I nod numbly, scraping a new layer of stinging self loathing as I watch her take off.

Weasley was right about me, I realise in bitter self-hatred. I am vile.

* * *

"Gin?" Oliver calls from the kitchen, but I don't open my eyes. It's still early, and we were out late night. Too late, some (read: my Mum) would argue.

"Gin!" he calls again, and I groan.

"What?" I grumble, pulling the covers up over my head as he struts back into the room, still completely starkers. Oliver loves morning, and he always wants to get up earl to shag and chat. If I'm being honest, it drives me mental; I just want to sleep.

"You need to see this," he says, prodding me.

"Stop," I grumble, wiggling away from him. "Show me later."

He doesn't listen. Instead he shoves The Prophet under my nose, and immediately I'm wide awake.

I still up, feeling all the blood drain out of my face as I study the ugly headline and the nearly full-page picture underneath.

 **THOSE SALACIOUS SLYTHERINS; MALFOY HEIR CUCKHOLDED BY HOGWARTS SWEETHEART.**

I glance at the byline, which unsurprisingly reads, "article by Rita Skeeter", before watching in horror as Zabini wraps a hand around the back of Leolin's neck and kisses her wantonly. Immediately I feel a hot, wet sensation in my chest, and there's really no point in denying what it is.

Jealousy.

I feel guilty, for Leolin's sake and Oliver's, that _that's_ my first reaction, but I can't help it. I know I've sworn up and down I don't have any interest in Zabini, and while that's true, that fact hasn't kept me from forming this kind of absurd schoolgirl crush on him. I could have maybe avoided it before what happened with McLaggen, but something between us changed that night, and I haven't been able to totally shake it. He's not the complete twat I thought he was. I still _want_ him to be, but I can't escape that he just isn't. It got stronger the night of Draco's birthday in June, and since then I've sort of stopped fighting it. It will pass in time, I keep assuring myself, and denying it only ever seems to give it potency. However, this is _certainly_ not helping.

I try not to outwardly react as I watch him feasting on Lai's neck, but I can feel the blood rushing to my stomach. Honestly, if I was wearing knickers, they would probably be wet right now.

"Have you talked to Leolin?" Oliver asks, interrupting my fantasy. "I thought she was with Malfoy."

"She is," I say dazedly. "Or she was. Something must have happened."

"I'll say," Oliver replies, sitting down next to me and studying the picture as well. "Who is that bloke? She looks about ready to shag him to bits."

"Oliver!" I cry, hiding my mounting envy under well-timed indignation.

He's right, though. I feel oddly betrayed imagining them shagging. How could she not tell me something like this? And perhaps more annoyingly, when did he decide he found her irresistible, too? Merlin, it cannot be healthy to be this jealous of your best friend, especially over a bloke you've sworn you loathe. No, correction, that you _do_ loathe. Because I still do, I assure myself, and if this is any indication of his character, he's still the vile snake I've always insisted he was.

"Sorry!" Oliver says, taking the paper from my hands and folding it over so I can no longer see the picture. "Poor choice of words."

"I should floo her," I said, desperately trying to get a grip.

I refuse to believe she's been sneaking around with Zabini, which means that something terrible happened with Malfoy last night, and this was a knee-jerk reaction she's probably already regretting.

"So who is this—" Oliver glances at the paper for a name. "Blaise Zabini, anyway?"

"A schoolmate from Hogwarts," I reply vaguely.

"Friend of yours?" He inquires, tone far too casual to actually _be_ casual.

I know he's already feeling a little jealous, and I can't really blame him, since Zabini is admittedly perfection, and I _do,_ in fact, sort of fancy him.

"Decidedly not," I said in a clipped tone. "He's Malfoy's best mate."

"Not a terribly good one, I'd say," he says, and I can tell he's a little relieved to find out that he was Leolin's friend, not mine.

"They're all Slytherins," I explain. "I think loyalty is a fairly fluid notion."

It was a good deflection; Oliver bleeds Scarlet and Gold.

"Do you suppose they actually—" he trails off, and I'm relieved he has to decency not to say "shagged."

"I doubt it," I say, hoping I'm right. "Leolin loves Malfoy more than anything; she would never do that to him."

"But she's not above a bit of snogging, seems like."

"Merlin, Oliver! Do you mind? She's my best friend!"

The more I think about it, the more I'm desperate to be right about this. She may be a Slytherin, but she's extremely loyal, and I know this would destroy her. Malfoy seems to cause her enough guilt, and I hate watching her pile it on herself as well.

And then there's my secret, selfish wish to keep Zabini for myself. Not that he's mine, of course, not that I actually want him, but I admit the attention is—not wholly unwanted. It was refreshing to have at least one bloke in my life that didn't worship Leolin. But then, wasn't that what Oliver was for? He's never cared one bit of Leolin, despite wanting her to approve of him for my sake, and he's always telling me how much he loves my hair and admittedly less womanly figure.

I guess I always sort of vainly hoped Blaise did, too. Not that it matters, since we're both dating other people, but...

"I need to go," I repeat, getting up.

"Maybe you should floo first," Oliver said.

"I don't have time for that," I snap. "She's my best friend, and she needs me."

"Gin—" he says sincerely, and I know he's right. It it were me, and I'd just cheated on Oliver with Blair or his friend Kelly Troy, there would only be one person I'd want to be with; my mum. I know Leolin well enough to know she'd want the same.

I sink back down onto the bed, feeling defeated, and Oliver crawls over to crawl me.

"I'm sorry, darling," he whispers. "Do you want me to make you breakfast?"

"I'm not really hungry," I admit, and he nods.

"Do you want to be alone?" he asks. "I know this is a lot to take in at half seven. You could have a bit of a lie-in. I can go for a workout with Kel and come back in a few hours."

I consider this kind offer, but I realise I don't really want to be alone with my thoughts, knowing they'll only betrayed me. Instead I lean into his toned body before kissing him over my shoulder. He doesn't seem to expect this, and he seems even more surprised when I turn and push him down, kissing him more meaningfully.

"Gin," he gets out between kisses, trying to fight off a groan as I grind into his naked cock. I can already feeling him hardening; he's a total sucker for morning sex.

"Shh," I tell him, continuing to grind against him, reaching back to run my nails against his tightening stones. He's a sucker for that, too, I've learned.

"Gods," he breathes. "You are so sexy."

It's exactly what I need to hear right now, and I kiss him again as I grip the base and sunk down on his length.

"Oh fuck," he groans, grabbing my hips and grinding against me.

I close my ideas as I fight off a tempting thought. I keep them closed even as I decide to give into it, just this once. When I open my eyes again, Zabini is underneath me instead, beautifully dark skin glistening with sweat.

This admittedly isn't the first time I've fantasized about him, but it's the first time I've done it while I'm actually with someone else. The few times I did before, it was during masturbation. This is next level, though, and it feels equal parts wrong and tantalisingly right.

"Keep going," my phantom urges, grabbing my hips and bucking them for a deeper angle.

I have to fight to keep his name off my tongue. I run a hand through my hair to keep it out of my face as I keep going. Merlin, I'm so close.

A flash of the picture from the photo from The Prophet flashes through my mind, and when I imagine him man handling me the way he did Lai, I fall off the edge.

As the rush of pleasure ushers in rational thought, I hurriedly kiss Oliver, reveling in his familiar lips. He groans against my mouth as he finishes inside me, and I roll off.

"Good _god,_ woman," he breathes, giving a half laugh.

I try to share his merriment, but I admit the guilt is seeping in.

Gods, I'm no better than Zabini.


	6. Part VI

a/n: So I've decided to start posting the corresponding Enemy Chapter (I know it's been awhile) with a brief recap in a effort to make this story more clear. Enjoy, and please **review!**

Corresponding Enemy of My Enemy Chapter: 31, _The Widening Gyre._ When Ginny finds out why Leolin broke up with Kelly, she explodes—then immediately regrets it. With Leolin missing in action, she has no choice but to turn to the Slytherins for help...

 **Like A Lonely House—A Love Story Told in Nineteen Parts**

* * *

Part VI

* * *

I watch Leolin take another swig of "tea" from her cup, trying to fight off the terse, disapproving look I inherited from my mum. I've been on the receiving end of it enough times to know how unappreciated it is.

"You could at least tell me _why_ you did it," I repeat for the umpteenth time, watching Leolin set down the cup (which is actually just full of whiskey) and start pacing. I _know_ I need to stop pushing, but I can't seem to bloody stop. I hate seeing Leolin like this, especially when she was so happy before, and every time Oliver tells me about how miserable poor Kelly is, I find myself reverting back to my base state of being a meddlesome nag. My more rational side keeps trying to remind me what it felt like to be needled by my mum about my breakup with Harry, but today I just can't stop being her.

"Gin, I don't want to talk about it." Leolin says, exasperated. "Please, just let it go."

I fight viciously not to get annoyed because I know she's hurting, but my more maternal side keeping telling me that she will feel better when she finally tells me _whatever_ it was that made her break up with Kelly. It had just been so sudden, and according to Oliver, Kelly had no idea what had prompted her to do it. This is for her own bloody good, I swear.

"For the millionth time, what happened at the gala?" I ask, gingerly reaching over to take the cup away from Leolin as she sets it down. Leolin scowls, taking another sip instead.

"For the _billionth_ time, let it go!" she snaps

"Did he…do something to you?" I venture. "Or say something?"

I have a sneaking suspicion he'd told her he was falling in love with her, and he did tell Oliver they'd finally slept together before the party, and that it had been incredible intimate.

"Jesus Muggle Christ, I _don't_ want to talk about Kelly," she said, pleading a little now. "Please, let's talk about something else. Anything else."

I sigh, wishing she could just let herself be happy. I know Malfoy properly fucked her up, but I'd watched Kelly make quick work of undoing some of the damage.

"Look," I say, annoyed at myself for sounding a little exasperated, too. "I realise you're in the middle of throwing yourself some kind glorious pity party, but this isn't just about you, you know. Kelly's a good bloke."

Leolin reeled on me, eyes red-rimmed. "You think I don't know that? I don't need you to fucking lecture me. Just go away."

She's right, of course. That was hardly comforting. Still, I ignore her demand to leave. She has to know I'm not going to.

"I'm here to help you!" I implore her, the harsh edge bleeding from my tone. "But I can't do that without the whole story. Please, just tell me why you broke up with Kelly."

"We just weren't—right for each other," she stammers awkwardly. "It just wasn't going to work."

I give her a knowing look.

"I think you could have made up a better lie than that," I admonish softly.

 _Merlin, Weasley_ , I chide myself. _Ease up a bit!_

Leolin huffs and crosses her arms, avoiding my gaze. "It's not a lie. I don't deserve Kelly; I never did—never _could_ —and I was only ever going to break his heart."

I feel the Molly Weasley disapproval frown coming on again. I think I know where we're going with this, and I hope I'm wrong even knowing I'm not.

"What makes you say that?"

She turns away, rounding her shoulders and putting her back to me.

"Oh, I see," I say, much sharper than I mean to. "This is about Malfoy. Of course it is. When is it not?"

Leolin doesn't say anything, but she doesn't deny it, either.

"Why?" I practically whine. "What the _fuck_ is so alluring about him?"

Leolin rolls her eyes, and I think it's as much to keep herself from crying as it is a gesture of teenage indignation.

"And you wonder why I didn't want to tell you," she says caustically.

"So that's why you broke up with Kelly?" I ask point blank. "Because of Draco sodding Malfoy?"

Leolin shakes her head in disgust, and I'm left to wonder if it's at me or her memory of him.

"Look," she snaps "I know that this isn't what you want to hear, but I am still _desperately_ in love with him. I am _sick_ with grief over losing him. How was I supposed to move on with Kelly when I still feel this way about Draco? Kelly told me he was falling in love with me!"

Called it.

"So, what," I ask softly. "You broke up with him? Why couldn't you have just let him? For once, just let yourself be happy, Bug."

"I'm trying!" she cries. "But it's not as easy as it seems."

"I know that!" I say, glad we can finally share some common ground. "You think I don't know that? When Harry and I broke up—"

"I'm sorry," Leolin sneers. "But this is _not_ the same at all. You still have Harry in your life! You still get to love him. I don't get that. I have to give Draco up forever. I have to forget him. Can't you see how much that breaks my heart?"

"So, what?" I repeat. "You want to get back together with him? Is that it?"

"No!" Leolin cries, more agitatedly that before. "Of course not. You win, okay? You and Blair and my mum and dad and stepmum and Harry and everyone else! You _all_ win! Draco was terrible to me and he's a jerk. He's _always_ been a jerk. I loved him against my better judgment and your advice and now I'm paying the price. Are you happy?"

"No!" I say empathetically. "I makes me sick to see you this miserable! I know you loved him; I know you wanted to fix him. But you tried, Lai! You did your best to help him. There's no shame in the fact that you couldn't. He's irreparably broken. That isn't your fault!"

Leolin hung her head.

"Wouldn't you be," she asks bitterly. "With parents like Narcissa and Lucius?"

She's got me there.

"What happened at the gala?" I ask instead, admittedly _not_ wanting to say that, yes, I would be broken, too, and I'd want someone as good as Leolin to help me pick up all the ugly pieces.

Leolin shakes her head, getting almost fretful now.

Gods, I really ought to stop pushing. However, I predictably don't.

"Please, _please_ stop asking me that," Leolin whispers in defeat.

"Was it Severina and Draco?" I probe gently. "I know that must have been hideous for you."

"No," she says firmly.

"Was it Kelly saying 'I love you'?"

"No! Please, _let it go_."

"I just need to understand. Please, help me understand! I want to help you."

Leolin bit her lip.

"Leolin—!"

"I let Draco fuck me during intermission!" she bursts before, covering her face in her hands.

"What?" I croak.

"I—he—" she begins helplessly. "I was completely destroyed when he came in with Severina. You saw her; she's perfection, and the way he was looking at her—" she bits her lip, fighting off tears. "It tore me apart. Still, Pansy and Nikki were able to talk me down a bit, and Kelly _had_ told me he was falling in love with me, and the sex had been so—beautiful. By intermission I thought I'd pulled myself together. But, I was in the washroom and Draco in and told he knew I still loved him. After he walked out I just want him to feel as powerless as I had, so I slapped him, and he just laughed at me, so I kissed him instead. I knew that would rile him up. I was going to walk away from him, I swear!"

"He treated you that poorly, and you still had sex with him?"

"I _never_ intended to!"

"But you did!"

"After I kissed him he coaxed me back to the washroom and I just realised that if I couldn't have everything I—I would take anything. I love him and I know it's terribly selfish and fucked up, but I—just wanted him to love me, even for one more second."

I don't say anything, because after that, I can't find the words.

"Say something," Leolin begs quietly.

"That's—" I begin, tears in my eyes. The next parts slips out, and I'm regretting it even as it rolls down my tongue. "Leolin, that's pathetic."

Leolin hangs her head.

"Who are you?" I beg, voice quaking as tears leak from my eyes. "What are you _doing_?"

Leolin begins to sob, and I feel equal parts angonised and furious.

"I don't know what to say," Ginny bite out at last, giving horribly into the latter. "I feel like I don't know you right now."

Leolin bit her lip, standing at last.

"You don't have to say anything. Show yourself out, would you?"

"Leolin—"

She was gone with a pop.

The minute she's gone, I start to cry myself. Merlin, what is _wrong_ with me? Wasn't what I did with Harry punishment enough? I feel so ashamed for letting my angry and my hatred of Malfoy get in the way of what really mattered, which was helping my best friend through a soul-shattering break-up. I think of all the times they're been together, all the things she's done for him and the few big things he's admittedly done for her, and I know I have to help her. She's in a bad place, no thanks to me, and she's a master of self destruction. She's in a terribly vulnerable place, and I've bloody put her there.

I pitch to my feet, wiping my eyes. I need to go; I should be gone already. I was selfish to indulge in that little pity party, and it only makes me feel worse. I need to get to Ariadne's. I don't want to get Leolin in trouble, but if the position's were reversed, that's where Leolin would go. Besides, Ariadne knows the score. She would never hurt Leolin by judging her like I have.

I prepare to apparate to her place in Kensington when I release with dismay she's in Romania. I know if I flooed her she's come straight back, but I didn't have time enough to wait.

It's then I realise where I need to go. There's only a few people in this city that care about Leolin as much as I do, and I bet there's only one I can count on to be lounging at home, being a lazy little bastard. I take a deep breath. This isn't about you, you selfish slag, I remind myself. This is about Leolin.

I hurriedly grab my purse, put up Leolin's wards, and close my eyes. I've only been there once, but I can still picture the door clearly. Destination, Determination and Deliberation, I can hear Wilkie Twycross, the old coot who taught the Apparation course, intoning. I picture the door again and disappear in a crisp pop.

I thankfully arrive on the stately boulevard with all my vital extremities intact, and I fight not to vainly check if both my eyebrows are still there. I practically jog down the cobblestones, eying the stone asps that flanked the sleek garnet door. Merlin, this place just reeks of richy-rich Slytherin arrogance.

I ring the bell and shift nervously from foot to foot, chewing on my lip. When no one answers, I bite down harder. I don't want to be here, I think sullenly.

But that's not really true, is it? Some dark part of me wants to be here very badly. And that same part—that same selfish fucking part—also wishes I could be here without an agenda. I hate that part of me, which sees Leolin's disappearance as a distraction from what I want. I also hate that part because what it wants is the arrogant prat having a bloody lie-in inside.

When no one answers a third ringing of the bell, I round my shoulders and make for the street, already pulling out my floo to call Ari. But then I hear the door's locks clicking and I rush back. However, when the mahogany eventually swings wide, the person standing in behind it isn't the one I was expecting, and Merlin, _alright_ , hoping for.

"Parkinson," I say stiffly, trying not to notice her perky nipples through the thin t-shirt she was wearing. She hasn't bothered to put on trousers.

"Weasley," Pansy purrs, drinking in my wild discomfort. I trying not to imagine Zabini lying upstairs, naked and waiting. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for Zabini," I say. "This is his house, isn't it?"

I fold my across my chest defensively and try not to blush.

"It is," Pansy concedes, raising her eyebrows. "And what, may I ask, do you need Blaise for?"

"You may not ask," I snap.

She can't honestly think I've come all the way over here to solicit him for sex. In his bloody dreams. Maybe in mine, too.

"Sorry Weasley, but as much as Blaise might fantasise about it, I'm not into a ménage a trois with you."

I scowl, try not to imagine what would look like. I mean, Parkinson's a pretty girl, and sexuality's a fluid notion, after all. _Oh come on, Ginny!_ I demand. _Haven't you been selfish enough for one day?_

"Seriously," I bite out caustically instead. "This is important. Is he coming or not?"

Pansy smirks.

"Well he was about to, before you interrupted us. Now I suspect I'm going to have to start fresh."

My cheeks go redder than my hair, and Pansy gives a delicate laugh before turning away to call upstairs.

"Blaise, darling, you have a visitor."

"Tell them to piss off and get up here," echoes Blaise's reply. "This hard-on isn't going to last all day."

Pansy smirks again as I continue to blush like a fucking twelve year old girl. Merlin, it's not like any of this is new to me. I have a boyfriend I shag, too, I remind myself.

"It's Ginny Weasley," Pansy calls back casually, her cat-like eyes never leaving my face.

I give her the nastiest sneer I can muster before turning my back to her and folding my arms across my chest, clearly indicating I had nothing else to say until Blaise arrives, which he does only a few seconds later.

"Ginevra," he says like we're the best of fucking friends. "I wasn't expecting you."

I turn around to face Blaise, scowling. "Don't call me that," I snap, hating how delicious it sounds in his crisp Londoner's accent. My knees feel a touch weak.

The only thing he's got on are a pair of khakis, and it is exceedingly clear that he's naked underneath.

I try not to ogle his naked chest or the obvious bulge in his trousers.

"What can I do for you?" He prompts, unmoved by my vitriol. He's looking at me with this maddeningly sexy hunger, as _I'm_ the one standing suggestively half-naked in front of him.

"I need your help," I bite out, still searching for an appropriate place to look.

He raises his eyebrows and smirks at Pansy.

"It must be serious for you to come all the way here. This is big bad Slytherin territory."

"It is serious!" I snap. "It's Leolin. She's—missing."

The mirth falls out of his face at once, and I know I've come to the right person.

"Missing? What do you mean missing?"

I sign helplessly, rolling my eyes back slightly to keep from crying.

"Here," Pansy offers, gently, extending an arm to me. "Come inside, love. I'll put the kettle on."

I wordlessly nod my thanks and follow Pansy in as Blaise shuts the door. I try not to marvel at the elegance (and opulence) of Blaise's sprawling flat, just like I had the last time I'd come over with Leolin. Everywhere I look there's marble and mahogany, and all of the fixtures in the kitchen look to be real gold. Or gold-plaited, at the very least

"Weasley," Blaise says, trying to take my hand. "What's going on?"

I jerk back like he's burned me, even though I know he's not trying to make a move on me. He gives me the same look he gave me after the thing with McLaggen, like the only thing he wants is to take my misery and bear it instead. We meet eyes and he gestures for me to sit in a plush-looking leather chair before positioning himself on the chair across from her.

"Leolin and I got into a huge row and she took off," I admit. "That hours ago, and I haven't heard from her."

"How do you know that she isn't with her mum or stepmum or something?"

I shake my head. "Her mum's in Romania for work. Her dad and stepmum are on vacation in Barbados."

Blaise looked over his shoulder at Pansy and they share a meaningful look. I don't expect it, I guess I assume because of Pucey and his foul bets that everything the Slytherins share is salacious and self-serving. But I can see the friendship flowing between them, and it's unnervingly charming. She nodds, setting down the kettle before disappearing upstairs, presumably to get dressed. I watch her go before looking back at Blaise. I admit I feel weird being alone with him when he's this naked.

"I know it sounds silly, but I have a feeling something really terrible is going to happen to her," I admit. "She was really out of sorts when she left, and I'm worried she's going to do something self-destructive and stupid."

"What was the fight about?" Blaise asks, going to fetch the tea Pansy abandoned.

I look down at my shabby pumps, which look even shabbier against the beneath rug on the floor. Blaise raises his eyebrows expectantly, but I don't say anything. I don't want to admit what I did.

"Weasley," he says patiently, and I roll my eyes to keep from crying again.

"I—I said some really horrid things I didn't mean, and she understandably stormed off."

"Alright," Blaise says slowly when I make it clear that I'm not going to elaborate. "Well, do you have any idea where she's gone?"

"Paris," I say at once. "I'm almost positive."

Blaise nodds, handing me a steaming cuppa before standing up and pacing around the room.

"Right, okay," he says at last, more to himself than to me. "I know what we've got to do. You'll hate it, but it's got to be done."

"What do you—" I begin, but Blaise cuts me off.

"I'm going to shower and get dressed. There's food and whatever else you'd like in the icebox and cupboards. Wet bar's to the left."

"What?" I say dryly. "No house elf?"

Blaise gives me a dazzling smile that makes my stomach flop. "I don't have any house elves or servants, Weasley. You don't know everything about me, you know."

"I know enough," I grumble. "And hurry up. I don't fancy sitting in this mausoleum alone."

"You can come upstairs and join me," he offers in a husky voice, and I think my knickers are a little wet. "You look like you could do with a little stress relief. I'll fuck the worry right out of you, if you want."

"Ugh," I sneer in disgust, trying to hide how good that sounds. "I have a boyfriend," I say, reminding myself, too. "And I wouldn't… _fuck_ you were the only bloke left on Earth."

I try not to blush, but it's involuntary, and some part of me just wants him to grab me and take me anyways.

"Tell that to our children, darling," he says, and I groan.

He finally disappears upstairs, and I take a swallow of scalding tea to keep myself myself from imagining him naked and wet. When he comes back down, he's dressed impeccably in a collared shirt, soft cashmere sweater, and well-cut jeans, all of which make him look like a male model. In fact, he probably could have been a model, if he wanted. After all, his mother is an icon in the fashion world, and I don't know he inherited his bone structure from her or his late father, but it's flawless.

"All set?" He asks mildly, casually pretending he didn't see me check him out.

"Yes," I say, putting my coat back on. Even though it's August, it's been raining all week. "Where are we going?"

"Best not to ask," he says, striding confidently towards me and looping an arm around my waist. Our hips touch for a second, and I hiss in displeasure.

"Zabini!" I cry, trying to pry his arm off. "What the hell?"

"Merlin, Weasley, we're apparating, just relax. By the way," he said casually. "You smell incredible."

I shriek indignantly to keep from squealing like a stupid schoolgirl, but it fades a moment later as we apparate away. When the spinning finally stopped, I feel a bit ill, and it takes me a second to get my bearings.

It's a fancy part of London I've only been to once or twice, and large houses loom everywhere I look. Wrestling away from Zabini, I glance around at the brilliant tudors and Victorians before turning back to him.

"Where are we?"

"Going to see a friend of mine," he reply. "Come on."

* * *

I'm already striding down the quiet boulevard towards a row of expensive-looking brownstone flats, and Ginny has to jog to keep up. I love how petite she is.

When we get lucky number 13, I trot up the seven or so steps to the Slytherin green door, and Ginny follows. I turn to give her a look before ringing the bell, already knowing how she's going to react.

She doesn't disappoint. When the door swings in, she gives a predictable cry of indignation as Severina Borgia eyes us both with distain. She's dressed about the same way Pansy was when Weasley showed up. I loathe her, I really do, she's a nasty little vipress, but I can't deny how _unbelievably_ beautiful she is.

She ignores Ginny and gives me an unpleasant smile.

"Oh, it's you," she says in Italian. "What do you want?"

I can tell from her expression she's hoping I'm don't speak Italian and she'll have embarassed me, but c'mon, I'm still my father's son, and the Zabinis have more Italian blood than Julius fucking Caesar.

"Cut the shit," I spit at her in Italian. Where is he?"

She raises her eyebrows mildly. Like against like, she's realising. Yeah, read them and weep, you she-devil.

"Malfoy?" Ginny cries, _finally_ finding her voice after a temporarily bout of dumbness. "You are taking me to _Malfoy_? Merlin, I knew you couldn't help," she says caustically. "Why did I bother?"

She's halfway down the steps by the time I can bound after her and clamp a hand on her arm.

"Weasley, c'mon!" I reason, hoping her rationality is stronger than her hatred. "He knows Paris and Leolin better than anybody. I know you don't like or trust him and I don't blame you, but if you really think she's in danger then you have to trust me. Please."

"He's the reason she's there in the first place!" she bursts angrily. "He manipulated her into having sex with him at the gala! And he only did it so she'd be forced to admit to him she still loves him. She was _trying_ to move on! She was _trying_ to be happy with Kelly Troy, and he just couldn't have that! He'd already moved on," she snaps, gesturing to Severina. "And yet he just couldn't stand to be see Leolin happy. He had to _ruin_ her. Honestly, it makes me sick."

I can feel Severina frowning, a look that suits her features immensely. If I didn't hate Draco so much right now, I would honestly feel a bit bad for him. I know she's already dreaming up ways to slip him some Borgia death powder.

I don't say anything to Ginny's declaration, but I can feel this crazy _rage_ bubbling up as well. I know Draco's a hot fucking mess, but this is so bang out of order it makes me sick, too. Nothing—not our kiss or her relationship with Troy or anything else she's done since they broke up—was designed to hurt him, and in turn all he could think about was ruining her.

"So you didn't know," she says flatly, reading me like a book.

"Be that as it may," I grit out. "We still need his help. You better stop whining about what a sod he is and start praying he actually agrees to help. Believe me, when he sees you he's not going to be pleased."

Ginny considers, her arms folded indignantly across her chest. She says nothing, but I know she knows I'm right, even though she doesn't want me to be. For the first time in my arrogant life, I don't want to be, either.

I ascend the steps again, attempting to skirt around Severina. However, she blocks my path, forcing me to fight down the urge to just shove her. Naked though she is, I know she's got her wand hidden on her somewhere, I don't really fancy getting my eyes forced out of my sockets.

"You can't come in," she say venomously, still speaking Italian.

Ginny wasn't sure what she'd said, but Severina's body language was clear: we were not to step foot in the house.

"The hell I can't come in!" I sneer in English, trying to peer around her. "Is Draco home?"

Severina turns away, acting like she didn't hear me. I growl in frustration, taking Severina by the shoulders and giving her a shake.

"I don't care if that little _putain_ Lefevre is dead," she finally says in English as well. "Draco is _not_ going after her."

I step towards her with such menace that ever she looks a little afraid.

Don't you ever say another word against her," I warn her. "Now tell me: _is. Draco. home?"_

She purses her lips, and I lose my patience and draw my wand. She gives me a look to indicate she doesn't have hers, after all.

"lo giuro di Merlin," I snarl, brandishing my wand. "If you don't tell me right now, I will _make_ you tell me."

"No," Severina snaps finally, sizing Ginny up before turning her bored gaze back to me. Her accent's musical, and it undulates with every word "He isn't. He was called to the office."

"Fine," I sneer. "Come on Weasley, let's go."

"Where—" she begins, but I already have her by the arm, and in a second we're spinning away. We arrive outside a shabby-looking office building, and I don't wait for Ginny before striding inside.

I see her glance around at the ultra-modern interior. _It's_ _Magic, Weasley_ , I think snidely. _C'mon already._

Merlin, I am in a shite fucking mood. I would never be that mean to her in real life.

I ignore the bloke who greets me by name, heading right for the lift and angrily jabbing the "Executive Suite" button

I slam the gate angrily, still brewing while also reminding myself that this is all I ever think about, being alone with Weasley, and despite everything, I ought to be soaking it up.

"I didn't know you spoke Italian," Ginny says quietly at last.

I look at her, annoyed for literally no reason. It's sweet she cares.

"Of course I do," I hear myself biting out. "Both my parents are Italian."

"Oh," she says in soft voice, and I know I hurt her feelings.

 _Merlin, Blaise, stop being so mean to her!_

However, just as I'm getting ready to apologise (or, you know, _beg_ for her forgiveness) the car stops. I gesture for her to step off, catching myself getting annoyed when she hesitates.

I don't blame her. She hates Draco, and I know he's going to an absolute prick to her. I wouldn't want to go either, if I was her.

"You coming, love?" I say softly.

It feels so good to call her that, and it feels even better when she doesn't sneer at it.

She nods meekly as the doors shut behind us. I push my luck by ghosting my hand to her low back, urging her forward. She doesn't reject this, either, and I want to say, sod Draco and kiss her finally.

I don't though, obviously. Leolin, you fucking prat. Focus.

I can tell she knows she's headed straight into the snake's den. Still, ever the Gryffindor, she squares her shoulders.

I see Val and she gives me a sinful smirk. Really wishing right about now that I hadn't shagged her a couple months ago.

"Blaise, darling," she purrs. "What are you doing here on a Saturday?"

I throw caution to the wind and do put a tentative hand to Ginny's back in a effort to get Val to back off. It works. Her eyes go cold.

"Is Draco in?" I reply lazily, like I don't care she's here. Okay, who am I, Adrian? Stop being a prick, Blaise. We're just popping by."

"Yes," she says tartly. "But I'm afraid he's frightfully busy. He asked that no one—"

Her voice grows more insistent as I continue towards Draco's corner office, pushing a resistant Ginny forward.

"Mr Zabini," she snaps now. "Please! Mr. Malfoy is _not_ to be disturbed!"

"Let me deal with him," I call. "This is urgent."

She huffs and plops back down, and I lean somewhat unnecessarily down to speak in Weasley's ear. She smells like vanilla body wash, and I fend off to urge to taste her cinnamon-dusted skin.

"If you want his help," I breathe quietly "You're going to have to be on your best behaviour."

"He better be on his," she snaps, brushing off my hand and leaning away from me. "Or I'm leaving."

We've reached the door now, and I throw them open, announcing, "Honey, I'm home."

I see Ginny glancing around the large octagonal office and the beautiful hardwood under foot. Like Drake, it's the very picture of aristocratic elegance, Ginny can't help but marvel. The entryway has a ceiling of a normal height, but as the hall gives way to the interior space, it blossoms into a coffered dome twenty feet high which glitters dimly in the afternoon sun.

"Blaise," Draco calls, getting up from the desk. He's yet to see Ginny. "What the hell are you doing here on a Saturday?"

"I need your help," I say, sauntering closer and ushering Ginny to stand in front of me. I'm tempted to place my hands reassuringly on her shoulders. It would just freak them both out. "We both do."

"Weasley," Draco sneers, and I immediately want to punch him in the teeth. "To what do I owe this distinct displeasure?"

"Shove off Malfoy," she says bravely. "I don't want to be here any more than you do."

"I sincerely doubt that," Draco says nastily. "Get out." Then he turns to me. "You have some cheek, bringing her here."

"Drake!" I admonish sharply, wand hand still itching. "This is serious. Leolin is missing."

"Missing?" Draco said, eyes suddenly alight. "What do you mean, missing?"

Blaise looked at Ginny, who rolled her eyes. "She and I got into a fight and she took off drunk three days ago. I haven't heard from her, but I think she's in Paris."

"None of us have," Blaise interjected. "Drake, if anyone could find her there, it's you. No one knows the city like you. No one knows _Leolin_ like you."

"You must be desperate," Draco said. "If you're coming to me." This was directed at Ginny.

"I am," Ginny said. "Believe me."

"And why should I do it?" Draco says, sitting back down at his desk and kicking his feet up. It's a diversion tactic, I can tell. He's fighting the urge to literally run out of here. I can see, in the depths of his eyes, how panicked he is. "She's not my girlfriend, after all," he continues, trying to bury the panic under arrogance. It's not working. If anything, I can see him growing more anxious. What's she to me?"

"You're the reason she's there in the first place!" Ginny bursts. "She told me what happened at the gala, you pig. As terrible as I _know_ you've always been,"that was a new low, even for you. How _dare_ you treat her that way? You've been so fucking hideous since you two broke up! And for what? Blaise kissed Leolin, he's _admitted_ that, and you forgave him in two days. On the other hand, you've treated Leolin, whom you professed to love, like garbage. She tried to move on from you, Malfoy, she really did. She tried to let you go. Why did you have to stomp on that? Why couldn't you let her be with Kelly, instead of using sexual manipulation to make her feel terrible about herself? You should have seen her after the gala. She's broken. You _broke_ her, Malfoy. I hope you're fucking happy."

"I'm the reason?" he yells. I can see right away he knows she's right, and he's sick with guilt. "You were the one that had a row with her! Maybe you should have considered that before you went pointing fingers, Weaselby."

"You despicable pig!" Ginny sneered. "How _dare_ you. I love her in a way you're sick twisted Malfoy heart never could. How dare you blame me. This is all on you!"

"Weasley, you don't know a goddamn thing about it. You really, really, don't. What Leolin and I had, you _never_ understood."

"What you and Leolin had, you _destroyed_ ," she snapped. "You're are your father's son, through and through. You are the bully and the thug he was and worse. You make me sick."

"You little bitch—!"

"That's enough!" I cry, "Look, we don't have time for you two to sit here and bicker," Blaise said. "Can you two get along or not?"

"No," Ginny bites out. "I was stupid to come to you, Zabini. I'm not going anywhere with this twat. Malfoy, I seriously do hope you burn in hell someday."

"Weasley!" I cry, but she was already storming out.

"Great," I sneer at Draco. "Fucking fantastic."

"What does it matter?" Draco sneers back. I can tell he's more at ease now that Ginny not throwing his sins back at him. "If anyone's going to find her, it's me, not Weasley."

"Yes," I spit caustically. "And what guarantee do we have that Leolin will want to come anywhere with you? Merlin, Drake, Weasley is right. How could you do this to her? You've crushed her. I hope you're happy."

Draco considers, eyes furious. "I'm not, okay?" he bites out, running a distressed hand through his hair. If he was the type of bloke to cry, I can tell he would right now. "I'm sick to my stomach. I didn't think it through, and after it was over, all I wanted was to take it back! Fuck, I—I still love her. I thought I wanted to hurt her but I—I didn't. I could kill myself for what I did to her."

"I honestly don't even know if any of that is enough anymore," I say seriously. "But you have to go after her. Weasley is right. If she's that messed up, she's in serious danger right now.."

"I know," Draco said. "We'll leave now."

I shake his head. "You go to Paris. I have to go after Weasley. Leolin needs her more than anyone." I pause. "More than you, certainly."

It knicks the facade, and I can see the self-inflicted damage bleeding through. He's probably serious about the suicide thing. If I'd known this had happened, I would have been keeping an eye on him.

"Fine," Draco bites out. "I'll floo you. Be ready to move."

He disappears—I swear he never walks anywhere—and I head back for the lift like a normal person. I'm thinking after the row, Weasley will want to be alone, and I know she still lives with her parents. I bet she's at Leolin's place, and I hope I'm right.

"What'd you do to your friend?" Val calls as I breeze by her. "She ran out of here crying."

"Have a good day, Valerie," I say tightly, sliding into the lift.

When I get to street level I apparate to Leolin's knocking on the door.

Finally Weasley answers, and she's been crying. I want nothing more to fold her into my arms, but I resist.

"I half expected Wood to answer in a tee-shirt and frilly knickers."

She gives a feeble half smile, and my heart skips a beat. There it was, my first smile. It wasn't the dazzling thing I've always dreamed about, but somehow in that moment I realise I will get one someday.

"You just missed him," she said half-heartedly, but I smile to reassure her.

"Can I come in?" I ask, and she holds the door wider.

I step past her, smelling that warm vanilla scent again, and now a hint of brown sugar, too, and my pulse spikes.

"Listen," I say as soon as she shuts the door. "I know Draco was a terrible prick back there, and I'm sorry, I really am. But please, come to Paris with us."

"I'm not going anywhere with that fucking scumbag," she says caustically.

"I get that you hate him," I say. "I hate him right now, too. But this isn't about him. It's about Leolin, and I'm honestly worried if we show up without you that Leolin won't want to come with us. Please, I swear I'll never ask for another favour as long as I live. Just please, do this for me."

"Not for you," she corrects. "For her."

"Of course," I say immediately, ignoring the disappointment.

We stand, but as I turn to the door, she grabs my arms. Her hands are so warm and soft.

"Blaise, wait."

I don't think I've ever heard her call me that before, and Merlin, it feels _so_ good.

"Thank you," she says meekly. "Seriously. I couldn't have done this without you."

"I told you before," I say softly. "We look out for our own, and you—you're one of ours now."

"Thank you," she repeats, and suddenly, she does something totally unexpected. She stands on her tiptoes and brushes a light kiss on my cheek.

My heart stops. Oh my _gods_ her lips are so soft, and she must be wearing some kind of chapstick, because they smell just like fresh cherries. She pulls away, and we lock eyes, and everything that is bloody going on flies out the window as I see the look in hers. Without even hesitating, I bend to kiss that perfect little mouth, and oh my _gods_ she's leaning in, too. Fuck, how am I ever going to get my arse out of this flat now? The minute I kiss her I'm totally going to lose it.

Just as her breath falls on my lips, my _fuck-ing_ floo starts smoking, and she jerks away, blushing.

"That's Draco," I say hurriedly, trying to get a grip.

Leolin, I remind myself. Leolin Leolin _Leolin._

 _"_ Are you ready?" I ask, and she nods, still blushing. I can see her telling herself how big of a mistake that would have been. The regret at leaning in, the relief it didn't actually happen, stings like a bitch.

Oh gods, did I just miss my only chance? I can already see her ship passing mine and sailing off in the night.


	7. Part VII

Corresponding Enemy Chapter-Pomp and Circumstance: After Leolin and Draco get engaged at the Hogwarts Graduation Party, they all head to The Emerald Crocodile to celebrate.

 **Like A Lonely House—A Love Story Told in Nineteen Parts**

* * *

Part VII

* * *

Its about nine by the time I get the the pub, and I sneer up at the worn sign above the door.

The Petty Diplomat. Gryffindor's own watering hole, and definitely one of the circles of my personal Hell.

It's the one place I swore as a Slytherin I would never go—even a year out of Hogwarts the combination of scarlet and gold makes me nauseous—but one of the Patil sisters (honestly, who can tell them apart) told me Ginny was here, and I need her.

I mean, Leolin needs her. I know Drake will be annoyed I've brought her—if I can convince her, that is—but it's Leolin's night, too, maybe more so than Drake, actually, since she's the bride, and I know it won't be complete unless Ginny there to celebrate with her. On a more selfish note, I haven't spoken to Ginny since they day we almost kissed over six months ago, and I'm desperate to see her again. I know she's still dating that prat Wood, but I don't really care. I just want to be around her, even if its just for the evening.

I sigh and head for the door; no point in delaying the agony any longer. Besides, the sooner I get in, the sooner I can see Ginny. I've already resigned myself to the fact she's probably here with Wood, but please Gods don't let her brother be here, too.

There a bloke sitting the door—I want to say his name is Jordan Lee—and I try to slide casually past as if I haven't seen him. No dice. He's on his feet immediately, scowling at me. He has the same stupid hairdo he'd had when we were at Hogwarts, and I fight not to sneer at him. I know that's not going to help.

"Oy," he snaps at me. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Inside?" I venture, trying not to sound overly haughty. Too late, I failed.

"I don't think so," he scoffed at me. "I know who you are. You're Malfoy's mate. Zambini?"

"Zabini," I reply. "And I fail to see why that matters."

"We don't allow Slytherins in here. Suppose you were to burn the place down or something!"

"I'm not here to committ arson, amusing as that would be," I said in a cool voice. "I have a friend inside and I just need to speak to them."

"A friend?" he repeats derisively.

"Friend," I drawl. "From the Old English _frēon,_ meaning 'to love'. A person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual or family relations."

 _Though not devoid of sexual feelings, in this case_ , I think dryly to myself.

"I know what it means, you dolt," he grits out. "But who could you possibly friends with who's a Gryff?"

"It's not against the rules to have friends in other houses," I point out, patience waning. "My friend Lef dated Potter, didn't she?"

"Yeah," he sneers. "And look how well that turned out."

"Oh grow up," I say, trying to shoulder past him. He's not a big bloke, but he's scrappy, and he manages to scramble in my way.

"Jog on, Zambini," he demands, and I am sorely tempted to punch him in the face. However, I know if I do, I'm _definitely_ not going to see Ginny tonight.

"Fine," peeling a glittering twenty galleon note from my wallet and offering it to him. "Satisfied?"

"You can't buy me off with twenty gals!" he cries, sounding offended.

Oh for the love of Merlin.

"How about two hundred, then?" I grit out.

"No!" he repeats, though I can tell he's tempted. Who wouldn't be?

"Take the money," I said through clenched teeth. "Or I will tell Malfoy you're personally trying to ruin his engagement party with Lefevre and that you're working here until the pub closes."

I can see the fear flash in his eyes, and I tuck the note in his breast pocket and pat him codescendingly on the cheek.

"Have a good night, dread-head."

Without turning to watch his reaction, I slip inside and fight not the gag. It looks like the inside of a giant circus tent, and there's a huge stuffed lion wearing a crown mounted on the wall. It's making me ache for the sleek lines of the Em. Focus, Z. The quicker you find Ginny, the quicker you can split. Also the quicker you find her, the quicker you can see her.

I scan the room quickly and don't immediately see her, but the place is packed, and I recognise a few faces I can ask, if need be. I turn to do another pass with my eyes, errantly trying to decide if I actually want to get a whiskey while I look, and as I turn, someone slams into me.

"Oh, sorry, mate!" the bloke begins. "I didn't—" he trails off when he sees who I am.

"Kelly," I said in a glib voice. "Good to see you. It's been an age."

I shouldn't be such a prat. Troy admittedly seems like a nice enough bloke, if somewhat boring, and the girl i suspect he's probably still in love with just got engaged to a bloke I'm such he hates. I do hope, for his sake, that he doesn't know that yet. I'm sure he doesn't, though he will soon enough, and I don't envy him when he finds out.

"What are you doing here, Zabini?" he snaps.

"Looking for Weasley, actually. Haven't seen her by any chance, have you?"

"Piss off," he sneers at me.

Clearly this is going nowhere fast.

"Brilliant," I say coolly. "Good chat."

I can already see Lavender Brown stands a ways off talking to the other Patil twin, and that's where I head instead.

"Go to hell," he shoots back.

What a prince.

"Oy, Brown," I call, approaching her and matching her glower with what I know is a panty-melting smile. I'm pleased to see it's not wholly ineffective.

"Zabini," she says, trying not to check me out as I approach her. Go ahead, darling, I'm tempted to tell her, take a look. I don't, though, knowing that being a nob isn't likely to get me far. "What do you want?"

"Haven't see Weasley around, have you?"

"Who's asking?" she asks, trading a look with the Patil twin. I can't keep back a little laugh.

"Well me, obviously."

"Then no."

"Oh c'mon, Lavender. Please. Draco proposed to Leolin tonight, and I just want to invite her to their engagement do."

She ignores my plea, looking behind me with scrunity instead.

"Pucey's not with you, is he?"

"No," I say, feigning insult, as if I _hadn't_ been partying at Adrian's twenty minutes ago _._ "Why would he be?"

She considers me.

"She's with Oliver at the back bar," she says finally, indicating with her thumb.

"Cheers," I say flashing them both a devilish wink before heading in the direction she pointed.

As I get closer I finally catch sight of her, and my heart leaps to my throat. She's wearing this incredible Slytherin green dress with a faux jeweled collar along the top, and it looks incredible against her copper hair. She's looking away from me and smiling, and now my heart skips a beat. Merlin, why does she have to be such fucking _perfection_?

Get it together, Blaise, I warn myself. Come on too strong and she'll never come with you.

"Weasley," I call casually.

I haven't called her that in awhile, and it feels alien.

"Zabini," she answers mildly, brown eyes glittering. I think there's even a little smile tugging at her sexy lips, too, but I can't be sure that's not just my fanciful imagination. "what the fuck are you doing here? And how in Godric's name did you get in?"

"I paid Jordan what's-his-name two hundred galleons," I explain, and she gives a good natured eye roll, smile still teasing her lips. "And actually, I'm looking for you."

"What do you want, Zabini?" Wood says, and I finally deign to look at him.

To be honest, I have no idea what she sees in him. Maybe it's just because I'm admittedly a bit jealous of him, or maybe it's because I know I'm fantastic looking, but I find him very average. He's got deep-set eyes and a weirdly heavy brow, and his Scottish accent is thick and completely annoying.

I politely ignore his query.

"We're having an engagement thing for Drake and Lef at the Em," I tell Ginny, casually glancing at my watch as if to make sure I'm not late. "Thought you'd fancy joining for a bit."

She raises her eyebrows and folds her arms across her chest.

"You came all the way here and pay two hundreds gals to invite me to some crocodile-infested swamp party?"

"Well actually crocodiles live in salt water," I reply smoothing. "So if anything, I'd say it's more like a yacht party down the Nile."

"As if," she says, smiling at Wood as if to assure him she's not even considering going, even though I know she is.

"C'mon," I say. "It's Leolin's big night. She'll be sad if you aren't there. You can come too, Wood, if you want," I add coolly. "Or you can bring—Granger, or whoever."

"I'd rather burn in hell," Wood says dryly.

"Awesome," I reply in a tone I hope conveys how little I care. "Weasley?"

She glances at Wood, and he clenches his jaw a little, because he obviously knows what's coming next. I think I do, too, and I try not to hold my breath.

"Do you care?" she asks Wood, touching his arm. "He's right about Leolin."

"It's up to you," he says, giving her a small smile.

She considers this tepid answer before looking back at me.

"Alright," she concedes. "Just for a bit."

"Brilliant. Good seeing you, Wood," I tell him, despite the fact we're never actually been properly introduced.

"Hardly," he scoffs, and Ginny punches him playfully in the arm.

He's being annoying about the whole thing; I hope she thinks so, too.

"Right then," I say, glancing needlessly at my watch again. "You ready?"

She nods, leaning over to kiss Wood goodbye. It might just been my sour imagination, but it seems more wanton than necessary, though I suppose it didn't matter how brief she'd made it; I would hate watching her kiss him either way.

"I'll meet you back at the flat later," she assures him, and he seems to relax at that, even shooting me a brief but unmistakably triumphant look. I give him a cold smile in return, secretly thinking I should keep Ginny out as late as I possibly can to keep them from shagging it out later.

"Lead the way, then," she says, and for an absurd moment I think to grab her hand.

In front of her poncy boyfriend, Blaise? Get your head out of your arse.

Instead I just spin on the heels of my leather hightops, tucking my hands in my pockets as she follows me. I catch another glimpse of Troy on our way out, and he rolls his eyes caustically. I fight the urge to wink at him. That could get back to Wood instantly, and I've come too far to fail now.

I hold the door for Ginny, trying (and failing) not to glance at her shapely little arse when she steps through. I bet I could squeeze the whole thing in two good handfuls.

"So where is this Elysium of yours?" she asks as we get into the street. "I don't even know."

"Not far from Diagon," I say, jerking my head to the right to indicate we're headed down the street. "But we have to fetch the lads first. Can you walk in those shoes?"

She smirks.

"When you're this height, you learn how to walk in any heel."

I laugh. She is really tiny.

"It's not far," I say in response, leading the way.

"Are we going to your flat?" she asks. "I thought you lived in Belgravia."

"Hardly," I say. "I don't let those heathens party over there when I'm not there to babysit them."

"So where are we going?"

"Hmm?" I reply stupidly, not particularly keen to answer the question knowing how annoyed she'll be with the answer.

She doesn't fall for it, and she narrows her eyes.

"Who's flat are we going to, Blaise?"

God I love when she calls me that.

"We won't be there for long," I deflect again, and she gives a mildly bitter laugh.

"Oh, no no no," she says. "If you think I'm going to Pucey's for even one second, you are barking mad."

"Oh it will be for less than a minute, I swear. Besides, you're going to laugh when you see it."

"Does he have a self portrait on his ceiling of his bedroom so he could admire himself during sex?"

I laugh out loud, because I literally would not put something that ridiculous past him.

"Couldn't tell you," I say. "I make a point of avoiding his bedroom."

"Prudent," she says dryly. "I'm sure it's riddled with STIs. Do you think he sleeps in a bed, or just a coffin?"

I laugh again.

"I can see why you and Lef get on so well," I say mirthfully.

"That's her joke," she admitted, laughing a little, too.

"Thought it might be. Here we are."

I ascend the steps and she follows crossing her arms again.

I ring the bell, and Tommy, Adrian's twelve year old kid brother, answers.

"Hey kiddo," I say congenially, ruffling his hair and making him scowl. "AD still here?"

"He says they're just waiting on you," Tommy explains, eying Ginny but saying nothing to her. He's cute enough, but he's kind of a prat, too.

"That's because he's my little servant," I tell him, following him inside. "And you can him I said that."

Tommy laughs, pleased to be privy to my joke. We follow him into airy living room, and Ginny snorts. Everything about it screams, "My mummy and daddy are rich, and I like spending their money."

"What," she says to me quietly. "No prostitutes?"

"Not yet, it seems."

"Bloody finally!" Liam interrupts, giving me a shake. "We thought maybe you died."

"I've been gone twenty minutes."

"And we missed you ever second you were gone," he assures me. "Hey Weasley. Ready to get fucked up?"

"Do I have a choice?" she asks, smiling, and he laughs. Liam could get along with anyone.

"At the Em? Definitely not. We ready?"

Adrian emerges now, eyes glittering as he takes Ginny in. Her posture grows more defensive, but he shoots her a dazzling grin that makes me want to punch him in the face. The way he looks at women is admittedly infuriating.

"You can't be serious," he laughs condescendingly. "You're bringing Weasley?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I say.

"Drake's going to go mental!"

"Yeah," I say dryly. "And what do you suppose Lef's going to do when she sees you? Jump for joy?"

Leon laughs.

"You two still haven't buried the hachet, AD?"

Adrian gives a nasty smile.

"There just hasn't been a cold enough day in Hell yet."

"Do you fancy a drink before we go? I ask Ginny. "Seems like we have some catching up to do."

"I thought we were going," Adrian challenges.

"Don't be such a stingy host, Pucey," I chide him. "Merlin."

"I'm good," Ginny says.

"C'mon!" Liam says. "Just one shot!"

I glance at her for approval. I don't want her to feel like she has to.

"Double it and I'm in," she says.

"I knew I liked you!" Liam cries happily.

"Barkeep, another round!"

Adrian's already pouring five shots of whiskey, and we pass them out.

"To Drake and Lef," Liam says.

"And the fact their wedding is going to be the best fucking party _ever,_ " Leon adds.

"And here's hoping Adrian actually gets invited," I say, and the Faulkner's laugh.

Adrian gives another nasty little smile.

"And here's to the fact I never have to listen to Lefevre's fucking moaning ever again."

"Oh I will _drink_ to that," Leon says, and we all cling glasses.

"And confusion to our enemies!" Liam says, and we tip our glasses back.

Ginny shudders as she sets her glass down, but then she smiles.

"I'm going to need about a hundred more of those."

"Then let's do it."

Adrian drops the wards, we head out the door, and the other three promptly disappear.

"So where am I going? she asks.

I see an opportunity, and the shot urges me on.

"Let's just side-along," I said prudently. "It's easier."

"Oh you wish, loverboy," she says dryly.

"Don't be dramatic," I tell her mildly. "You don't want to get splinched, do you?"

"It better not be like last time," she warns me. "Keep your grubby paws to myself."

I roll my eyes and hold up my well-groomed hands.

"Scout's honour."

She takes a step towards me, and she's right; the urge to loop an arm around her waist and crush her against me is almost overwhelming, especially when I remember that she was going to kiss me that day, too.

I hold out a hand to her, and the minute she accepts it

We disappear in a crack and arrive outside the Em a second later, where the other three are already waiting for us. Terrence, the door guy who took over when Jaime Quinn got promoted, smirks as we approach.

"AD," he says, rising from the stool he was sitting on to embrace Adrian. "I was wondering when you lot were going to show up. I think Greengrass is looking for you."

Adrian flashes an arrogant grin.

"Which one?"

"Take your pick," Terrence replies, and everyone laughs but Ginny and me.

I hear her growl in frustration, and I lean down to whisper, "Bet you five gals that I can get there first and convince them to both ignore him."

She smiles at that, and my heart essentially stops beating for a second. There it is: the prize I've waited years to claim. A Ginny Weasley smiles that's all for me. I am so tempted to just lean down and kiss her right then that I actually have to look away to keep myself from doing it.

"You coming, Z?"

Liam calls, and I glance down at Ginny.

"Ready?"

"No," she admits, and I laugh quietly.

"You arrived survived Pucey's flat. This should be a cake walk."

"He's right, though," she says, sounding a touch nervous. "Malfoy is not going to be happy I'm here."

"Who cares what he thinks?" I ask honestly. When it comes to Ginny, I certainly don't. "Tonight is about Leolin, not him, and she's going to be thrilled you're here."

"You're right," she says, taking a deep breath.

"Always am, darling," I say, ushering her forward.

"Hang on a second, Z," Terrance says firmly, placing a hand in front of the door to put our entrance.

"Who's your friend?"

I can tell he knows she's a Weasley, and he's .2 seconds away from announcing she can't come in.

"Actually she's Lef's friend," I reply coolly. "Her best friend."

"You know we don't admit non-Slytherins," he says, though they not strictly true; pretty girls from other houses are often allowed entry, as are a certain number of foreign travelers.

"Fine," I snap. "Then you won't mind if I tell Drake you've made Leolin unhappy on what is supposed to be the best day of her life."

He clenches his jaw, knowing his losing ground. That's right, you bastard. Checkmate.

"Lef's not even here yet," he says stupidly.

"Don't make me call Drake out here to deal with this," I snarl at him. "You will not like the end result."

"Fine," he concedes at last. "Just this once, then."

"Cheers," I snap unapologetically, already making a mental note to get him in trouble for that.

"Thanks," she says as we enter.

"W look out for our own, remember?" I remind her, and she gives me another small smile. "Now let's get fucked up, shall we?"

She nods, and my heart thumps pleasantly in my chest. It's going to be a good night.

* * *

I watch Leolin and Draco disappear into the back, trying not to imagine him stripping off her clothes. I know I need to accept this, be excited for Leolin because she's finally happy. I can't set aside all the things he's done to get them to this moment—I know that he does genuinely love her—but I also can't set aside feeling nervous, either. I don't like the idea of Leolin coming so close to Lucius Malfoy, though I suppose there's no one better suited to defend her from his cruelty than Draco.

"Weasley!" I hear, and I turn to see Parkinson striding towards me in a slinky black dress. I don't really hate her, anymore. In fact, I think I'm actually coming dangerously close to liking her. "We're doing shots! Come have one, they're wickedly good."

I glance around, errantly wondering where Zabini's got off to. I know I shouldn't care—I'd work so hard to distance myself from him after we almost kissed that one time—and it's been working. Things with Oliver have never been better, and I've started to think he might even be the one. I don't want some silly fancy for Blaise to ruin that. Besides, I don't want to give Leolin the satisfaction after she'd goaded me into admitting that I've been fending off this crush for awhile. She knows me too well.

"C'mon!" she laughs merrily, taking my hand and leading me to the bar, where many of her friends are already gathered.

I watch Pucey whisper something in Astoria Greengrass's ear as his slimy hand slides down to rest on her bum, and I sneer. Guess Blaise didn't move quick enough after all. I errantly think I should find him and demand my five galleons, but when I admit that's only because I want to talk to him some more, I follow her to a spot she's saved me at the bartop.

The bartender—who's been mixing shots as I approach—looks up at me and grins.

"And who are you?" he asks wolfishly, setting down the shaker and leaning in. "You're delicious."

"Back off, Jaime," Pansy warns. "She's got a boyfriend, and she's way out of your league."

"No one's out of my league after they've had one of my drinks," he says confidently, winking at me as he picks up the shaker and starts draining the concoction into the row of shot glasses lined up along the sleek bar.

"Why, because you put Rohypnol in them?" she bites back caustically, shooting me a reassuring smile.

"Of course not, Angelfish," he says, eying her hungrily as well. "Because they're just that damn tasty. Right, ladies and gentleman," he announces. "The game is fire and ice. Fire first, then the ice. It's a bit of a wild ride, so hang on to your knickers. You ready, Copper Top?"

I roll my eyes, taking one of the flaming red shots in my right hand and an ice blue one in my left, which is throwing of cold steam like cauldron smoke.

"Off you go, then!" he cries, and I tip the red shot down my throat. It burns, and I gag a little. I put out the fire with the blue ice, and the dichotomy of hot and cold makes me shiver.

"Whoo!" Pansy, shuddering a little as well. "Jaime, you may be a creep, but you're one hell of a mixologist."

"Thank you, darling," he says, leaning his elbows on the bar.. "Now I do believe you promised me a kiss as repayment."

She rolls her eyes, but I can tell she's drunk.

"Go on, Pans!" Liam Faulkner calls from farther down the bar. "Give him a little smooch."

She laughs before meeting him in the middle, and cheers go up as he slides his tongue into her mouth.

Oh, vomit. After a minute she pulls away, wiping her lips as he grins.

"Let's go dance!" Astoria says, eyes sparkling from the drink as she hops off Pucey's lap. I watch him stand and press hot, open-mouthed kiss to her neck as she laughs and threads her hand through his thick hair. Looks like Leolin and Draco aren't the only ones who are going to be shagging here tonight. Ugh, I need a minute. There's only so much Slytherin debauchery one can stomach.

"Come dance!" Pansy urges me, taking my hand.

"In a minute," I say. "I just need to pop into the loo."

I gentle disentangle our hands and head in that direction, though I'm not actually going there. The last thing I want right now is to walk in on Draco Malfoy pounding my best friend.

The Em is furnished with semicircular booths, and since everyone is crowded around the bar and the makeshift dance floor, I'm able to find an empty one. I order a vodka soda from a cocktail waitress and settle down, glad to be away from the madness for a second. I wonder how long I'm really obligated to stay. I know Oliver was sort of hacked off I agreed to come here, and I want to get home soon and reassure him I hadn't gotten up to anything I shouldn't have.

"Mind if I join you?"

I watch Blaise approach,and my heart does an annoying little flutter. He's wearing a dark trousers and and black fitted t-shirt with a light gray blazer on top, all of which is tailered to perfection. I don't think I've seen him wear them before, but he's got small diamond studs in his ears, and while it would look incredibly poncy on anyone else, he pulls it off with incredible style.

I nod wordlessly, and I can't decide if I relieved or disappointed when he sits across from me instead of next to me.

"So what do you think," he asks, taking a sip of what looks like a vodka on the rocks. I like that he's a vodka drinker, too. Oliver only ever really drinks beer. Damn it, no I don't. I don't even care.

"Not as bad as I'd imagined," I say noncommittally, unwilling to admit I'm actually having a pretty good time. One of thing I will say for the Slytherins, they know how to party. "Minus the bartender," I add.

He laughs, white teething glinting. Merlin's beard, why does he have to be so handsome? It's not fair.

"I'm glad you came," he says, taking another sip of his drink before setting it down on the low table between us.

"Can I be honest?" I blurt.

He gives me a warm look. Ugh, I miss the days when I didn't know him and I could hate him from a distance.

"Always," he replies.

"I still don't know how i feel about this," I admit. "I mean, I know he loves her, but part of me can't help wishing she'd fallen for someone else. Someone less—" I pause. "Complicated."

He considers this thoughtfully, taking the jab at Draco in stride. I like that about him, that he's analytical and not quick to emotion. I wish I was more like that, to be honest.

"I get that," he says. "Believe me. But you should know that Draco got Adrien's blessing. And I probably—okay definitely—shouldn't be telling you this, but he's being seeing him, as a patient."

"Malfoy's in therapy with Lai's dad?" I ask, totally in shock. I try to imagine him lying on Adrien's couch and spilling all his secrets, but I honestly can't.

"Look, I know you see him as this broken thing, and I get that, truly, but he's trying to heal, and Adrien's helping him. I don't think you understand how big that is. Before he met Lef, he never would have done something like that. I get why you don't like him or trust him, but they really do love each other, and he's trying to be better for her."

"I know that," I admit. "And it feels good to see her so happy."

He takes another sip of his drink before nodding.

"Yeah, it does," he says honestly, and, as always, I'm warmed by his genuine affection for her. "And hey, maybe now we can all be mates."

I smile at him.

"Don't hold your breath," I say teasingly.

Oh gods, I think we're flirting again.

He laughs, leaning back to kick his expensive-looking leather high tops on the table

"Okay," he promises mirthfully. "I won't."

We lapse into comfortable silence, and I realise I'm desperate to find something else to talk about. He's the most sane person here by far, and I can't deny that I do enjoy his company. Maybe we could be friends, after all.

"So," I venture finally, and he turns his attention back to me. He's really good about eye contact."How are you?"

"How am I?" he laughs, and it's a delightfully unguarded sound. "I'm—good."

"How's your Mum?"

I ask, and he smiles, though less brightly than before. I don't know why I've asked that question—I've never met the woman before in my life—but I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"She's good, too."

I nod and we fall back into silence.

"Actually," he admits quietly after a second. "She's not. I think her and my stepdad August are getting divorced."

I frown, errantly thinking I should take his hand, or something. No, no physical contact, Ginny, especially when we're so secluded.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I tell him honestly.

"Look, I'm not stupid," he explains. "I know everything thinks she's a gold digger, and I don't know, maybe she is. But I think deep down, she's really just a romantic. I see how everyone snickers when she gets re-married, but she wants it to work, and it sucks to watch her when she realises that it's not going to."

I've never seen him so disarmed about something, and it makes me want to hug him even more. I think of the way he looked at me after the fight with McLaggen, and just like I did then, I think he's had to comfort his mum the way he comforted me.

I want to say more, to comfort him in return, but before I can, someone cuts in.

"Am I interrupting something?" Pucey smirks. I can see a lipstick mark on his neck, and I sincerely want to punch his bleached teeth in.

"Of course not," Blaise snaps.

"That's funny," he goads. "Because it sure _seems_ likes I am."

"Go to Hell, Pucey," I sneer at him.

Merlin, I'm really starting to understand just why Leolin hates him so much.

"Pansy wants to do more shots," he says in response, ignoring my bard. "You two in, or did you want to stay and canoodle a bit more?"

Blaise drains his glass, ice clinking as he does.

"Shut your face before I remind Lef you're here and she gets you chucked out and banned for life just because she can," he replies coolly.

At this, Pucey frowns, probably because he knows she can and—more importantly—she totally would.

"Are you coming or what?" he demands, patience waiting.

I realise that underneath his caddish veneer is an even uglier person, and it makes me curl my lip.

"Yes already!" Blaise snaps, standing and fixing his trousers. I try not to watch him, mostly because they're fitted and they fight snugly around his legs and—other parts of his anatomy. "Keep your knickers on!"

Pucey turns on his heel and strides away without a second glance. Good riddance.

"Have you had fire and ice yet?" he asks as I stand, too.

"It's quite the drink," I reply, smoothing the back of my dress to ensure my bum's not hanging out.

"I like your dress," he says earnestly, as I fight not to blush. I fail, obviously.

"It looks really good against your hair."

A piece of it has fallen into my face, and my breath catches when he tucks it behind my ear for me.

"Thanks," I mumble stupidly.

Maybe it's the drinks, but suddenly I really want to push him back down on the booth and snog him senseless. I think of the one time I imagined Oliver was Blaise, and my cheeks flame again.

"Ready?" he asks, politely pretending not to notice my blush.

I follow him to the bar, and he places a soft hand on my back as we fight to the front, where Pansy's waiting.

"And just where have you two been?" she asks mirthfully.

"Just talking," he says flippantly. "And making fun of you lot."

"Welcome back, Copper Top!" Jaime says jovially. "And Z, always a pleasure!"

"I wish I could say the same," Blaise replies in a wry tone before smiling down at me. "Let's do this."

Jaime pours more fire and ice, pushing them towards us.

"I'll pay you a hundred Gs if the next two shots of these doesn't end in you two shagging," he says, grinning at Blaise and shooting him a wink. "You're welcome, mate."

"You're on," I snap, trying not to imagine being pressed up against the wall as he slides in and out of me. "And when I win, you can just send the money to my boyfriend Oliver Wood."

Jaime laughs. It seems like nothing can bother him, and it's maddeningly. "I remember old Ollie Wood! How's he doing these days? I really ought to floo him; haven't seen him in an age!"

"He remembers you, too," I say, despite having no basis for this. I know, at least, that Oliver would hate Jaime, so close enough. "He said for me to tell you that you're a twat."

"We're always joking like that, cheeky lad."

Blaise, who seems a bit annoyed with Jaime at our exchange, clinks his red shot to mine.

"Shall we?"

I smile at him. I have a feeling this isn't my last fire and ice of the evening. So much for getting home early.

"To the lovebirds," I say, and he gives a heart-melting grin.

"And confusion to our enemies."


	8. Part VIII

A/N: Welcome back, sorry for the hiatus. I know you're all wondering about Before We Turn, but let me assure you I'm working on it.

Also, in other news, I kinda have to brag about something. I'm sure you've all taken the Patronus quiz my now, and I was nervous to take mine after my sister got Vulture. (I know, I laughed until I cried) But then I took mine and got LEOPARD. So yeah, life goals complete. Comment and tell me what you got!

xx

 **Corresponding Enemy of My Enemy Chapter:** Jaws of the Beast. Ginny makes a decision concerning Oliver's marriage proposal before the gang heads to Malfoy Manor to officially celebrate Draco and Leolin's engagement.

Longest chapter yet!

Like A Lonely House—A Love Story Told in Nineteen Parts

* * *

Part VIII

* * *

By the time I get to Linger, I'm grinning like an idiot, because I've decided to accept Oliver's proposal.

I can't believe it; after tonight, I'll be _engaged_.

I don't know quite what it is that's convinced me, but I've decided I'm convinced. Maybe it was talking to Lai earlier, and seeing, despite all the difficulties in her relationship, how happy she is.

I want to be that happy.

I know getting engaged at twenty is a huge commitment and that I'm giving up my most viable dating years, and yes, of course some part of that makes me crazy nauseous. But the truth is that I'm never going to find a better bloke to settle down with than Oliver. Or at least, I'll never find someone who adores me as much.

 _Not true, Ginevra_ , a small voice reminds me, even before I can tell it to shut up.

 _It **is** true_ , I assure myself, even as the unwanted insinuation grows in my mind.

 _What about Blaise?_ The voice queries, and i screw my eyes shut and dig my nails into my palm, because in truth, he is the last person I want to think about right now.

 _You know he's mad about you._

I shake my head. All the confusing feelings I thought I'd dealt with had came rushing back that night of Lai's engagement part at The Em, and in the months since then, I've been struggling to put them in their place. It's just a silly crush, I remind myself. Everyone has them, even people who are in serious, committed relationships. It has no actual bearing on my relationship with Oliver. I love him, and he's going to make me happy in a way Blaise never could.

 _You're rushing into this so you never have to find out_.

That's not true, I tell myself savagely again. Oliver knows me. He _gets_ me, and he's the type of bloke I'm meant to be with. I mean, my family already loves him, we share the same interests, and we just make sense together. That's what love's about, right?

 _It's not and you know it_.

I shake my head and push open the door to the restaurant, my throating aching. Suddenly this whole endeavor seems so much less exciting, and I'm dying for a drink.

The girl at the host stand smiles as I approach. Leolin's right, I'm so glad we didn't go to The Dip.

"Good Evening," she says cheerily. "Lovely dress!"

I smooth it down and smile. It's the same green one I wore to The Em. "The Slytherin Dress" Leolin always calls it. It's not though, I assure myself. It just looks good with my hair. I remember Blaise telling me to same that night, and I fight off a flush. I need to find Oliver; I'm already losing my nerve.

"Thanks," I mumble, feeling stupid but also relieved she can't read my thoughts. "I have a reservation. It's under Wood?"

She looks down at the parchment sitting on the smooth lectern in front of her before beaming at me. Please Merlin, tell me I'm not going to find Oliver right where I last left him last night, grinning on one knee with an open ring box in his hand.

"Of course," the girl says, drawing me from my reverie. "Right this way."

I nod and follow her as she leads me up some stairs to a romantic but secluded table on the second story. Oliver's already sitting at it waiting for me, though he springs up when he sees me. I don't see the ring box on the table as I approach, and I admit I'm relieved. I'm not nearly as psyched on this whole thing as I was twenty minutes ago, and I need to ease back into this. More importantly, I need a vodka martini...or three.

"There she is," Oliver says, kissing my cheek. "Hello, darling!"

"Hi!" I squeak, accepting the kiss gratefully, already feeling a bit better. I'm making the right choice.

"Something to drink?" he says as we settle into our respective seats. "Martini?"

I admit I'll relieved he didn't suggest champagne. I'm not ready to talk about—that yet, and I don't want to rush it along by ordering a celebratory beverage. There will time for that after I accept, which I assure myself I'm still going to. I just need to relax a bit more. I appreciate that Oliver's not pushing, despite the fact I know he must be on pins and needles. I promise myself I won't keep him in agony too long, and I order my martini.

"You look fantastic, as always," he says when the waiter leaves to fetch our drinks, taking my hand. "That dress is one of my favourites."

I flush. Maybe I shouldn't have worn this dress after all. I should have bought something new for this momentous occasion in our lives. Something in scarlet or gold, maybe.

"Thanks," I say, trying to untangle the knot in my stomach by taking a steadying breath. "You don't look half-bad yourself."

"I always look shite compared to you, but I do my best."

I smile, admittedly not knowing what to say to that. In fact, I'm finding it hard to make conversation at all. Maybe I should just get it over with; I wasn't anticipating feeling this—

I want to say nervous, but right now the only word I can think to describe the knarl in my gut is _nauseous_. That's not a good sign. I wonder if Leolin felt this way when Malfoy asked her to marry him. Probably not, but only because she didn't know it'd been coming.

 _You know she wasn't nervous_ , the voice in the back of my mind echoes.

 _Oh, w_ _hat do you bloody know?_ I think, fighting not to frown outwardly.

 _As your subconscious? Quite a lot, actually._

 _Shut it._

 _I'm here to remind you what you really want, since evidentially you've forgotten. Spoiler alert, its not getting engaged._

 _Who asked you?!_

Great, now I'm talking to myself. Thankfully, before the voice, which has only grown louder since I sat down, can respond, our drinks arrive, and I raise mine to Oliver.

"To us," I think to say, but it feels it's too on the nose, so I stay quiet like a stupid mute.

"What is it the Slytherins always say?" he laughs, touching his pint glass to my martini. "Here's hoping our enemies get confused?"

"Confusion to our enemies," I clarify, trying to blush again. "But you were close."

He laughs again. He really does have to best laugh.

"Doesn't feel terribly relevant," he admits. "Not that I'd be keen to use it if it were, the gits."

I laugh a little too, though I can't help feeling just the slightest bit exasperated as well. Surely he knows that he's going to have to invite all my Slytherin friends to our wedding...

All my Slytherin friends.

I imagine, for a moment, the look on Blaise's face as I walk down the aisle towards Oliver, and the abject sadness in his jade eyes, even in the fantasy, tugs at me.

Snap out of it, Gin, it's just nerves.

"Right," Oliver says, having thankfully not noticed my internal debate. "How about this, then: may the best of our past be the worst of our future."

I blush because it's a bit on the nose as well, but I nod and smile. There's no need to be coy. I'm going to say yes.

"Here, here," I say, touching my glass.

"So how's Lefevre doing?" he asked unexpectedly, though I welcome the change of subject.

"She seemed very zen," I offer. "Considering she's willingly marrying Draco Malfoy."

He laughs merrily.

"I admit I don't really see the appeal."

I smile.

"Neither do I," I agree. "But the heart wants what it wants, I suppose."

"Don't I know it," he says, beaming at me.

"How's—" I paused, not sure I should be asking this. "How's Kelly doing with it?"

Oliver shrugs.

"He's taken it like a champ," he says. "But I know it's been tough for him. You know how hard he fell for her. Honestly, I think he was secretly hoping the door hadn't fully closed of them."

"He's such a great bloke," I offer. "He's going to meet someone brilliant."

"Hopefully soon. You can't deny that it would be pretty sweet if he somehow beat her down the aisle."

I laugh softly.

"She getting married next summer. I maybe wouldn't count on it."

"Still," he says. "I'm glad it's still a year off. That's more time for him to heal."

"Totally," I agree. "And it's brilliant the way his career has taken off. I saw Gwenog this morning, and she was telling me he's been ranked #1 in the world."

Oliver grins, eye crinkling merrily.

"That's because the stupid blighter really is the best," he says. "Loathed as I may be to admit it."

I smile.

"Your no slouch yourself, Mister Twelve."

He gives a sheepish laugh. I've always loved his humility. It's so endearing, especially compared to arrogant sods like Malfoy and Blaise.

Oh _bollocks_ , not him again. Go away, you.

"But what about you?" he says eagerly. "I know why Gwenog wanted to meet, you sly minx."

"She offered me a spot," I admit, feeling a touch sheepish myself.

"And you're just now telling me?" He demands, beaming. "Why didn't you say?"

I shrug.

"Gin, that's incredible!" he said. "And now you have your pick!"

I was offered a generous contract from the Plymouth Peacemakers several weeks ago, but I'd yet to accept. I admit I've been holding out hope Holyhead would come through.

"It's not as good of an offer," I admit.

He shrugs.

"Well the Harpies are a way better team. And I know how much you like Gwenog. She's a brilliant captain. Better than Trevor Moreland, definitely."

Moreland was Plymouth's aging captain. He'd been a force in his day, but he did seem resistant to adapting his game to newer styles of broomplay, and the Peacemakers had declined somewhat because of it.

I shrug. I admit that I'm trying to make the most prudent decision, not necessarily the most alluring one.

"They fired Sheldon Blakes and just hired that bloke from Portree," I explain. "I think Plymouth could be poised for a comeback."

"They're due for one, certainly, " Oliver agrees prudently. He's got his cute—if slightly manic—Quidditch face on. "Though it's admittedly hard to look bad as a coach when you've got a chaser as good as Kelly."

"True," I concede. "But I do think I could get more of a chance to shine in Plymouth. That's worth considering."

"Definitely," he agrees thoughtfully.

"What do you think?" I ask.

Holyhead wanted a three year contract, and with a eight month Quidditch season, that would admittedly be a long time away from each other, especially for a—newly married couple. Still, the British Cup was next year, and we'd get to train and play together. Considering his zeal, though, I'm not entirely sure if that would be a boon for our relationship, or a strain on it.

"Plymouth is definitely the safer choice," he says finally. "But I think Holyhead is where you'd going to become a star. Still, there's no saying you'll never get another chance to play there. In fact, it could even be better with a few solid years under your belt."

"True," I admit.

"And then on a more selfish note," he admits finally. "Plymouth is a hell of a lot closer to Dorset than Holyhead. It's two hours instead of six..."

He trails off, and I can tell he feels a bit guilty bringing it up. I know he'd never ask me to put my career over his, but he's not wrong.

"We could even get a place in Devon together, and both commute. It's about equidistant."

I smile.

"I see you've given it some thought," I say teasingly.

He blushes a little.

"Well I mean, we didn't know if you'd get an offer from Holyhead, and I just thought—"

"I know," I assure him. "And it's a good point, definitely."

"I just can't bear the thought of only getting to shag you twice a month or something."

I laugh. I should take the Plymouth spot. Relationships are about compromise. _Marriage_ is about compromise.

I want that idea to excite me, but I realise with slight dismay that it doesn't. In fact, it feels like a compromise I'm not actually ready to make. I love Oliver, I do, but Holyhead has always been my dream. If I gave that up for him, even in the short term, would I secretly resent him for it? And more importantly, what else would I have to give up for our relationship?

I know the answer at once, and it forces a little pit into my stomach.

Children.

Oliver wants them badly, and we've talked about it; I know he wants them soon. That would mean that I could be giving up some of my prime years to start a family.

Children, I think immediately. Children, money, and sex.

Those were the three most common factors of divorce. It was one thing to make an early career move for the sake of my relationship, but a career-altering decision was something else entirely. We could wait, of course, but was that a compromise _he_ was really ready to make? He could just as easily end up resenting me.

I glance across at him. I'm getting _way_ ahead of myself. He only just asked me to marry him. Kids were still years away, and there was no way of knowing what could happen in the meantime. Besides, quidditch was important, but was it really more important than the love of my life?

I study Oliver's kind smile. It was the smile that I was going to wake up to for the rest of my life. It was a comforting prospect, but I realise with dismay that comforting wasn't enough, was it? It should be exciting, and I realise sadly that it wasn't. Or rather, it was exciting, but it wasn't nearly exciting enough. In fact, the idea of marrying him wasn't, either. He made he happy, he always had, but I wasn't head over heels. I wasn't punch-drunk, Leolin-and-Draco, rock-my-soul in love.

I wasn't "spend our entire lives together" in love.

I feel the pit in my stomach splintering into a gaping chasm.

There it was: I loved Oliver, but I didn't love him enough to marry him.

"I think you should take Holyhead," he said finally, grinning and painfully oblivious to my decision. "I can see how much you want it."

"I think I'm going to," I admit, taking a steadying breath. Under the table, my hands have begun to shake.

"Then we'll make it work," he assures me, taking my hand. "Holyhead's way cooler than Plymouth, anyway, to be honest. Besides, maybe Gwenog will let me play?"

I laugh feebly but I stop when I feel a sob bubbling up underneath it. Oh gods, I have to do this now. I feel dread welling in my stomach. I can't put it off any longer.

"Oliver," I say, and immediately I see the smile fading a bit. "I—I think maybe I need to go to Holyhead alone."

He looks dismayed.

"Gin—"

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't be," he assures me hurriedly, backpedaling. I know he thinks he's pushed too hard, and it breaks my heart. This is my fault. I should never had let it get to this. "Because we can put things on hold," he continues, rambling to cover his mounting panic. "I totally understand—"

"Ollie," I say, sliding my hand from his and biting my lip. "I—I don't think I—I can't—marry you," I finally stammer, tears in my eyes.

There is a beat of crushing silence.

"Please don't say that," he pleads softly. "I love you."

Gods, I feel awful. How did I let it get to this?

"I know," I say earnestly. "And I love you, too. But I'm not ready to be married."

"So we don't get married," he offers. "You go to Holyhead and we will—"

"No, Oliver," I begin again, swiping at a tear. "I don't want to marry you."

He looks down at the table, stricken with grief.

"What are you saying?" he asked softly, dismayed. "You want to break up?"

"Yes," I whisper. "I'm so sorry."

"I get that last night was a really intense ask," he pleads. "But I take it back! And we can work through this; I know we can."

"I don't think I want to," I blurt, hating how harsh that sounds. "I do love you, but not as much as you deserve."

"I don't care—" he says hurriedly.

"You should," I say in an earnest voice. "Because you are an incredible bloke, and you deserve someone amazing."

"You're amazing," he chokes, tears in his brown eyes. "I want you."

"I'm sorry," I say, fully crying now. "But as much as I want this to be right, it's just—not. Not for me, and you deserve better."

He bows his head, and I feel like such a fucking villain.

"I'm sorry," I repeat, knowing how inadequate that is. "But I have to listen to my heart, even if I don't want to."

"We can work through this," he urges again.

"Ollie—" I beg. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Please," I say, dodging the question in a truly vain attempt to spare his feelings. "Try to understand."

"I don't, though," he admits earnestly. "I don't even really want to."

"You won't always feel that way," I said, and I feel like a twat for saying that, because I have no right to tell him how he feels.

"Gin, I'm begging you."

"Please don't," I reply in the same pleading tone.

He looks down at him lap.

"I should go," I say softly, not able to bear his pain any longer.

"You don't have to," he offers. "I can—let's have dinner."

He waves vainly for a waiter, but I gently lower his hand.

"I can't," I repeat for what feels like the billionth time.

I stand up, resisting the absurd urge to drain the last swallow of vodka in my glass. He scrambles up as well, and I selfishly find myself hoping to hell that he isn't planning to try and chase me.

"Take care of yourself," I beg him, brushing a final kiss on his cheek.

It's wet and salty, and I feel my own hysterical tears welling up.

"I'll always love you," he mutters pitifully, and I don't know what to say that, so I just touch his cheek instead.

He accepts the gesture without comment, and I let my hand drop as he slumps back into his seat.

I bit my lip, searching for one last thing to say before realising there is nothing more _to_ say.

With that, I turn on my heel, head bend as I slink away.

* * *

I'm standing on terrace at Malfoy Manor, twirling the stem of my champagne flute between thumb and forefinger and wishing Drake would come back already. He went to find Leolin—she has more bollocks that I would, showing up late to a party Narcissa Malfoy organised—and I'm desperate for him to come back so I'm not forced to talk to anyone else.

I already had the exquisite misfortune of arriving at the exact same time as Grace, only to find that the year since we've broken up has done little in the way of thawing her arctic opinion of me. She'd given me that ugly, loathsome look Ginny used to before we were friends, and in addition to being generally unpleasant, that detail made it particularly so.

I sigh, taking my last mouthful of champagne before snapping to a passing waiter. I've tried not to dwell on it too much, but I know she'll be bringing sodding Wood with her tonight, and there's really no point in denying how badly it's going to sting. The best I can do now is get drunk and avoid them as much as possible. Hell, maybe I could even chase some skirt myself, though I admit almost at once that the idea has no appeal.

As I prepare to dive into a pool of my fantastically self-indulgent pity, Drake reappears, and I smirk, relieved for the distraction.

"How's Lai?" I ask as he approaches, a whiskey clutched in one hand.

"Fine," he replies, taking an ambitious swig. "She's just riled up about my father."

My expression darkens.

"Have you looked?" I ask softly.

I hadn't had the stomach to in awhile, but the last I checked the polls, he was pulling ahead.

"No," Draco says, I can tell how agitated he is. "I can't deal with—not today."

I nod my understanding.

"Agreed," I assure him. "Tonight's for celebrating."

"I just wish Leolin felt the same," he admits, taking another swallow of whiskey. "I get that she's worried," he continues after a beat of silence. "I just—"

"You can't blame her for being nervous," I point out gently. "And let's be honest, she was gonna be late to this thing either way. The girl loves to make an entrance."

At this he grins.

"That's true."

"I daresay we're going to be waiting of her for the rest of our lives."

"Also true," he says, grin widening, and I watch the tension melt from his shoulders. "But I'm afraid we're stuck with her. I'm rather fond of her."

I grin now, too.

"Me too. Besides, you don't choose your squad. Fam is fam."

He smiles, and then it brightens to a full beam as Leolin saunters towards us, her scintillating cardinal skirt swaying.

"There she is," Draco breathes, grabbing her around the waist and crushing her to him. I look away as he kisses her sensuously, lifting her almost off her absurdly tall heel. "Feeling better?"

She nods, kissing him again, and I clear my throat. It's here that she finally turns to smile at me.

"Hi," she says, beaming and untangling herself from Drake's embrace.

"Hi," I reply, smiling as I hug her. "Congratulations. You look absolutely stunning."

She smiles appreciatively.

"Did you ever think we'd make it here?" she asks, laughing a little as she presses back to Draco's side.

"Truthfully," I say, surveying them. "Kelly Troy gave me pause."

Draco rolls his eyes, but Leolin laughs.

"If Kelly couldn't keep me from Draco, no one can," she assures him, kissing him a third time.

"How reassuring," Drake growls.

I shouldn't have brought it up. It's been two years, but it's clear that for Drake, it's a wound that's never going to fully heal. I know for him, it's not so much the fact she loved him as the way he'd reacted.

"Relax, mate," I say casually, taking a sip of champagne and trying to right my mistake. "You ended up with the girl of your dreams in the end. We should all be...so…lucky…"

My voice withers and dies in my throat as I watch my own dream girl float onto the terrace, looking like perfection in blue silk. The dress has a deep V that cuts almost to her waist, showing off a tantalizing sliver of creamy skin. On a bustier girl it would be too salacious, but she has these beautiful small little tits that almost makes it feel demure. I love how petite she is, and I've lost count of the number of times I've fantasized about squeezing those perky things. I know Draco's all about a full chest, but for me, anything over a handful is a waste. Merlin, I bet her nipples are the most gorgeous colo—oh my _gods_ , Zabini, pull it together. Now's not that time for a hard-on.

"Oh, don't congratulate Weasley when you see her," Draco tells Leolin casually, offering her her floo back. "She's not engaged."

"Draco!" Leolin cries, indignant, but I'm not listening anymore.

In fact, it feels like everything else in the world's fallen away. Wood asked her to marry him, and she said _no._ More than that, she's actually gone and broken it off with him. My head reels around the implication, trying to grab hold of it. After two years, she's actually _single._ Did I ever dare hope?

"She's single?" I demand, wheeling on Leolin.

Before I can begin to fathom what this might me for me—for us—Leolin grabs me by the tie.

"Listen to me: this might be your chance and it might not, I don't know, but she just broke up with Oliver yesterday after dating him for almost two years. Please, please, _please_ leave her alone tonight."

I scowl.

"Stop acting like I'm some cad you scooped off the street," I snap irritably, fixing my navy silk tie from where she had tugged on it. "I know how to behave like a gentleman."

"Leolin!" Ginny calls now that she was closer, extending her arms and enveloping Leolin. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you!" Leolin squeals. "I'm so happy you're finally here!"

They both pulled away a little, trying to pretend Ginny's breakup wasn't hanging in the air. I try too, but I can't quite help gawking at her while she's distracted.

"Hello Ginevra," Draco says, coolly brushing a kiss on her cheek. It's a stretch to say that he and Ginny are cordial now—I'm smug to know she and I are on significantly warmer terms then they are—but they've learned to tolerate one another for Leolin's sake, and in the process they've developed a sort of grudging respect for one another.

"Draco," she says levelly in return. "Congratulations."

Her eyes fall on me, glittering, and the indescribable look in them goes straight to my stomach. Still, when she makes a small move to allow me to embrace her, as is customary, I fold my arms across my chest instead, nodding at her.

"Weasley," I say simply.

I haven't called her that in ages—in fact, I've taken to calling her Ginevra—and she seems to have accepted it. I secretly think she kinda likes it. Either way, I can't help myself; it's gorgeous, and it suits her. In fact, I think it could suit her even better, if her surname was Zabini and not Weasley.

I'm drawn out of my fantasy but Ginny's somewhat confused frown.

"We heard about Wood," Draco cuts in, and I can't decide if I should be grateful or annoyed. I know he's just looking to stir up a bit of trouble; Merlin knows he can't resist. "He's a nob. We never liked him, did we, Blaise?"

I see Leolin scowl, and I decide to appease her by merely shrugging. She's probably right; tonight's a less than ideal time to make my move. On the other hand, her window of singledom seems to be alarmingly narrow, so maybe I will try and catch her later and feel the situation out a bit more.

"You can do better," I say noncommittally, and Ginny spares me a quick glance. I vainly hope she can see, in that half second, that I obviously mean me.

"Sorry," Leolin says, giving Draco a glare before taking Ginny's arm sympathetically. "He wasn't supposed to say anything to you about it. Are you alright?"

"Seriously," Ginny replies, smiling. "I'm fine. I actually feel loads better now that it's over. I think when you're with the right person, you know."

"You do," Draco says, looking down at Leolin. "It's undeniable."

Ginny eyes them a bit sadly.

"I never felt that with Oliver," she admits. "I've never felt it without anyone, even Harry."

I can sympathise; I haven't either. But I want to, I admit privately to myself. Very badly.

Still, her saying that makes me perk up a bit. However, when Leolin makes a throat-slitting motion I scowl and go back to my drink.

"Speak of the devil," Leolin says happily, watching Potter's unkempt mop bobbing through the crowd. "Harry Potter," she says when he's close enough, extending her arms. "When did you get out of prison?"

"I was released today on good behaviour," he jokes, somewhat smarmily in my opinion. I fight not to curl my lip. "Only for one night, though—mind you—so let's make it count."

Leolin laughs even as Draco frowns. At least I'm not the only one who thinks he's a slick git.

"Congratulations," Harry says, kissing Leolin's cheek to Drake's mounting annoyance. "And you look lovely as usual."

"You're going to make me blush," Leolin says, releasing Harry so he can hug Ginny.

Now it's my turn to scowl.

"You too," Harry says to Ginny before his expression soften to a small frown. "Hey, Kelly told me what happened with you and Oliver," he says quietly. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Ginny chirps as he released her. "You know me."

"Unfortunately, I do," he says, smiling warmly at her.

Gods, I hate that this little twat's been blessed enough to have shagged Ginny, especially considering I haven't, and how much I bloody want to.

Finally, Potter turns to Draco, and he extends his hand even as some of the merriment saps out of his gaze.

"Congratulations, Malfoy," he says coolly, shaking Drake's stiff hand.

"Cheers," Draco says, trying to be civil for Leolin. I see her catch his eye and smile at him, making his demeanor relax considerably.

"Zabini," he then says to me, reaching over to shake my hand. I admit my emnity for his is far less than Drake's, but like I said, I could never really like him knowing he dated Ginny for two years.

"You alright, Potter?" I reply coolly.

"Fine, you?"

I shrug, unable to keep my eyes from Ginny for a split second. "I can't complain."

"How are things?" Ginny presses him. "How is training for Puddlemere going?"

"It's grueling," he admits. "But I love it. I'm so pleased to have signed with them."

"What about women?" Leolin says, nudging him. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"Well…" he begins, blushing like a sixteen year old girl.

Merlin's beard.

"He is!" Ginny squeals. "He definitely is! Look how flushed his cheeks are!"

"It's a bit tricky to expla—"

"Harry, darling, _there_ you are! Merlin, I thought I'd lost you in this mob!"

We all watch, bewildered, as Ginny and Leolin are forced to let go so a bubbly twit can wind around Potter like a blonde vine of devil's snare. She seems either oblivious to or unconcerned with us, and when she speaks again, she's still only addressing Potter. What a charming girl.

"I thought you were just going to get us drinks but then you were gone for _such_ a long time I figured I'd have to come and find you. Have you seen the bride and groom yet?"

"Uh, that would be me," Leolin says, still trying to figure out quite what was happening. "I'm Leolin. This is my fiancée, Draco."

"Charmed," Draco says in a dull voice to suggest he's anything but.

"Welcome to our home," Leolin finishes, and I see Draco smirk at that. I know they had quite the little row about hosting the wedding there, and I sense Drake can't help be smug that he actually won.

"Lovely to meet you," the blonde says, crushing Leolin into an overly-familiar hug.

I see her meet Potter's eye over the girl's shoulder as if to say _who the fuck is this?_ and he clears his throat uncomfortably.

"Uh, Leolin this is Olivia, she's my—ah—"

"Girlfriend," Olivia finishes happily. "And you must be Ginny," she says , hugging Ginny tightly as well. "Harry talks about you _all_ the time"

"Does he?" Ginny says, sounding a little scared. She hates friendly strangers. Just another thing I adore about her, since I do, too.

She finally notices me over Ginny's shoulder. Oh Merlin, here we bloody fucking go.

"And who are you?" she practically demands, as if I'm the stranger and she's the best man.

"Draco's best mate," I grit out, and she seems to accept this explanation, probably because it's rather obvious she doesn't really care.

She makes to embrace me, too, but I immediately hold out a hand. In her sodding dreams.

"I don't hug," I inform her curtly.

"Suit yourself, Grumpy Gus," she titters, and I scowl at Leolin and Ginny as they make eye contact and stifle a laugh. "Oh Harry darling, I've just seem Lavender Brown; let's go say hi!"

"You go," he says feebly. "I'll catch up with you."

"Merlin," I breathe as we all watch Olivia sashay off. "She's—"

"A bloody nightmare?" Potter finishes. "Yeah, I know. I've been trying to break up with her for weeks."

"Where did you even _find_ her?" Leolin asks mirthfully.

"We met at a party of Puddlemere a few months ago. She works press for us. Gods, she's just my luck. The only one-night stand I've had, and it turns out she's clingier than a leech.

"Is she good in the sack at least?" I ask. I feel I'm justified in the coarseness of this question, considering we've all clearly agreed we don't like her.

Potter blushes stupidly again, and all of us, even Drake, wince.

"Oh, _tell_ me you're joking!" Ginny demands.

I'm glad to see my question didn't offend her.

"Would that I could," Potter groans.

I admit seeing him so miserable suddenly makes me rather glad I haven't gotten my nob wet in awhile. That, and the fact that my perfect girl is unexpectedly back on the market, and I'm able to pursue her without attachment.

"Maybe you'll meet someone else tonight," Leolin says hopefully.

Potter shrugs. "I know all these girls. If there was even one I fancied dating, I probably would have already done it."

"Not necessarily. People can change," Ginny offers.

It's nice to see—or at least feel like—she wants to see him move on with someone new.

"To an extent," Leolin points out mirthfully. "Though there's no hope that Olivia girl. Just please make sure that she doesn't break anything on her way out; Draco's mother would be very irritated."

We all laugh as Potter huffs. "Oh ha ha bloody ha. Alright, I am going to try and deal with this. See you all later. Congrats again, Lai. You deserve to be happy."

"So glad that isn't me," I mutter when he's out of earshot, and Leolin and Ginny laugh again.

I glance around at the others not that it's just us four. The three most tolerable people in my life, I think fondly. My three favorites, in fact, if I'm feeling poncy enough to put it like that. I imagine, for a second, a world in which the four of us are genuinely friends, even Drake and Ginny, and it warms a small little place in my jut. Happiness has always been a tricky and rather elusive concept to me, but I realise after a beat that that idea makes me happy. The brief, pleasant little moment is interrupted by Pansy's approach. I don't mind, though. She admittedly another favorite of mine, and I daresay that if Ginny wasn't around, she's have a top spot in the final four.

"Congratulations," she says. "Both of you!"

"Thanks" Leolin replies, hugging her tightly. "It's so good to see you!"

"Good to be seen, as always," Pansy says smugly. You have to admire her swagger; it's so irresistibly charming and unique.

Just then a server arrives in our midst, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"Yes?" Draco snaps in a thin voice. His view on servants is the exact opposite of mine; he loves having them to satisfy his ever whim, and more than that, he loves being mean to them. No one ever said he was perfect.

"Madame Malfoy is looking for you, Madamoiselle Lefevre."

I watch Lai fight, for Draco's sake, not to roll her eyes. I pity her; I wouldn't want Narcissa as a mother-in-law either.

"Right, of course."

"I'll be right back," she promises, kissing Draco salaciously first. "Talk about something boring until I get back."

He watches her go fondly, we all do.

Suddenly Pansy spots a handsome looking bloke through the open doors of the terrace, and she turns to smirk at us. He's noticed her now, too, and he gives her a similar look.

"If you'll excuse me," she says, pressing a soft kiss on Draco's cheek and winking at me.

"Merlin, but you are a saucy minx," Draco laughs.

The bloke has paused several yards off, clearly waiting for her.

"One of the many things you admire about me," she says, smirk widening. "I'll catch up with you lot in a bit. And Ginevra?" she turns to Ginny, smiling.

"Hmm?" Ginny replies.

"You look positively sinful in that dress, and if you don't mind me saying, sinful suites you _immensely."_

Ginny blushes, and I'm tempted to says, "here _here_."

Instead I take the opportunity to steal a quick glance at the sinful garment in question. As always, Pansy's right on the money.

"Oh go on," I laugh, and she blows a kiss and saunters off.

"What are we going to do with that one?" Drake says mirthfully.

"Take her as she is, I'm afraid."

"Merlin help the bloke who wifes her up," Draco laughs.

"He's going to have to be a Hell of a man," Ginny agrees.

We lapse into comfortable silence as Draco takes another sip of his whiskey and I trade my empty flute for a full one.

I glance at Ginny and offer it to her instead before plucking another off the trade.

"Ginevra?" I say smoothly. I feel more at ease now that I'm not under Leolin's watchful eye, and she smiles at me. Gods, I love when she does that.

"Cheers," she says, clinking her glass to mine. Suddenly Drake feels like a painfully unnecessary wheel. "And confusion to our enemies," she finishes.

At this Drake and I both smirk at each other.

"Very good, Weasley," he says. "I knew you wanted on Team Slyth."

She rolls her eyes and takes another sip.

"So," I say. "Things seem like they're going well with Lai and your mum."

"I wouldn't say that, exactly," Drake says, laughing a little. "But Leolin's trying, and I think my mum is, too. Besides, I don't need them to adore each other. I'l settle for civility."

"Prudent," I say honestly, and Drake smiles as Ginny gives a soft laugh.

It's funny, but suddenly I'm imagining what my mum would say if I brought Ginny home. She'd be delighted, I know. How could she not be? I suppose the real question would be what would her mum think of me. I'm sure Ronald would be happy to slip some poison in her ear about me, but if she's anything like Ginny, she'll make her own decision. No one could ever be truly worthy of her, I'm sure her parents would agree, but I like to think I'd at least be worthy enough to try, and Merlin knows I would.

As I'm considering my self worth, I spot Liam Faulkner hurrying towards us, brow furrowed.

"Drake," he says seriously. "Come quick. You father won and he's here, looking for Leolin."

Drake takes off like a shot, shouldering past guests and barely deigning to apologise. We follow through the path he's created, and we arrive on the balcony of the ballroom just in time to see Lucius sweep Leolin onto the dance floor to the tune of a dark waltz.. Ginny and I trade a worried glance as Draco growls quietly and muscles his way down the stairs, pushing gawking spectators aside. Ginny and I watch, slightly breathless, as Draco breaks through the crowd forming along the perimetre, eyes diamond hard as he pushes Leolin slightly behind him and stands toe-to-toe with his father. They're of a similar height and lithe build, and if things were to come to physical blows, it was impossible to say who would win.

I can tell from Draco's stance they're exchanging hot words, and I wonder if I ought to draw my wand and back him up. However, after a second Lucius disappears in a swirling crack, and Draco draws Leolin into his arms instead.

"Glad that's over," Ginny breathes.

"And me," I agree.

"I can't believe he won," she says. "I can only imagine what that's going to be like."

I nod my agreement.

"I'm not eager to find out," I admit. "We need to be ready for things to get...ugly."

"I'm ready," she says bravely, Gryffindor courage flaring. "Or as ready as I'll ever be."

I smile at her approvingly and she blushes slightly and turns away, surveying the swirling couples on the dance floor again. Leolin's easy to spot in her shimmering cardinal gown, but she's smiling now. Seeing that she's sufficiently amused again, I turn to Ginny. It's now or never.

"I'm sorry," I say finally.

"About?" she asks, still watching the couples.

"Wood. I know that couldn't have been easy for you."

She head snaps around, and I can't tell if she's mad or not.

"It was awful," she admits finally.

"I know the feeling," I admit.

She nods her agreement.

"I should never have let things get that far. I've known for months that Oliver was getting ready to propose, and I also knew I secretly didn't want him to."

"I know what it's like to try and settle," I agree. "But trust me when I tell you that it's a decision you're not going to regret."

She nods again.

"Its like he was this pair of beautiful shoes I adored," she explains. "And I wanted so badly for them to fit. They just—didn't. I could have worn them, I suppose, but they would have been painful."

I can't give a small laugh at that. She scowls.

"I'm sorry," I offer quickly. "I'm not laughing at you. It's just—did you just compare your ex to a pair of shoes?"

It's here she seems to recognise the humour in it, and she laughs sheepishly.

"Okay," she admits. "That was a less than stellar metaphor. It's just—do you know what I'm talking about?"

I study her, drunk on the fact she's letting me into something so intimate. And more than that, that it's something I _do_ understand.

"Of course I do," I say. "Because that's exactly how I felt about Grace. It wasn't that I didn't care about her—I did—I just, I always knew it was never quite enough."

"Exactly," she says, turning to me more fully. "Thank you. I've felt like such a villain about this."

"Don't," I say too quickly. "Look, the truth is that you've done Wood a favour. He deserves someone to love him the way he loved you. In time he'll see that."

"I hope so," she says. "I'm pretty sure Kelly's never going to speak to me again."

"What a tragic loss," I say sarcastically.

She laughs.

"Don't be a nob!" she says, though there's not malice in it. "He's lovely."

"I'm sure he is," I reply dryly. "But your Slyth squad now."

"No I'm not!" she laughs.

"Yes you are," I say, feeding off her joviality. "And believe me when I say the last thing we need in this dysfunctional fam is Kelly sodding Troy buzzing about."

"I guess," she admits somewhat grudgingly.

"Do you reckon he's still in love with her?" I ask.

"Most definitely," she admits. "He was pretty devastated when she got engaged."

"Can't say I blame him," I say with a shrug.

"Me either," she replies. "Who wouldn't fall madly in love with her?"

"Well not to brag," I say, nudging her shoulder playfully with mine. "But me, for one. Obviously I love her, but she's a bloody handful."

She laughs.

"I agree you'd be terrible together," she says, eyes glittering.

I can't help but glance down at her lips,which are stained a lovely dark red. There is something positively intoxicating buzzing between us. I know she feels it too, and she looks away swiftly.

"So," I say, sensing a change of subject is in order. "What's next for you?"

"Singledom, for one," she says candidly. "I realised when Oliver asked me to marry him that I've had one boyfriend or another since I was fifteen. I need time to figure out who I am, and that's kind of exciting. Terrifying, but exciting."

I nod my agreement.

"Being single is kinda of the best," I say. "You're going to love it."

"Besides," she says, seeming bashful. "I'm moving to Wales in a couple of weeks."

"Wales?" I repeat, trying to sound excited instead of dismayed. "What the Hell for?"

She can't help but beam, and my knees suddenly feel weak.

"I signed with Holyhead. You're looking at the newest chaser."

"Weasley!" I breathe, beaming, too. "Congratulations. That's _brilliant."_

 _"_ I'm so excited," she bursts. "It's a dream come true."

"Though not surprising," I add. "You are the best quidditch player I've ever seen. Don't tell Drake."

She laughs.

"I never imagined they could want me."

"Are you kidding? Who couldn't want you?" I blurt before I can stop myself.

She gives me a glittering look.

"I bet teams were tripping over themselves to sign you," I cover quickly.

"Hardly," she said. "But Holyhead was the only one I've ever cared about."

"Well congratulations," I repeat.

"Thank you," she says bashfully.

"I suppose now we have a reason to go to bloody Holyhead."

"Yeah," she agrees, smiling sidelong at me. "Guess you do. I think you'd love it. It's actually quite beautiful."

"Reckon I would."

I didn't realise it, but I was leanly into her slightly, and after a minute she does, too. Oh gods, I want to fucking kiss her so badly. Maybe I should just go for it.

However, as I lean it a little more, a flash on peacock blue on the dance floor catches my eye.

"Bollocks," I growl.

"What is it?" she asks, leanly away from me and down to peer over the railing.

"My mum's here."

She laughs.

"Is that a problem?"

"I have to head her off or she's come up here and say something embarrassing."

She laughs.

"Better go then," she prompts. "I think she's spotted you."

I don't want to go at all, and I sense she doesn't want me to, either. Still, if my mother catches us together, I will never hear the end of it.

"Congratulations again on Holyhead," I tell her. "You deserve it."

She nods.

"Thanks."

"See you soon, then, I hope," I blurt.

I feel like a dolt for saying it, but the smile she gives reassures me.

"Me too," she admits. "Have a good night, Z."

I smile a final time and turn towards the stairs.

It's official: I have to marry this girl.


	9. Part IX

corresponding Enemy Chapter: Here Comes The Bride, Pt I. When Leolin comes to Blaise asking he help her pick out a weddingdress, he sees an opportunity to spend time with Ginny, and when Leolin goes to clear the air with Kelly, Ginny and Blaise are left to their own.

* * *

Like a Loney House: A Love Story Told in Nineteen Parts

* * *

Part IX

I watch Leolin from across my desk, hands clasped together as if she were in prayer, and I'm tempted to tell her that while her puppy dog eyes may work on most the men in her life—they can basically get Drake to do anything she wants—they are ineffectual at best on me.

"Blaise please!" she pleads. "I really need your help!"

"No!" I snap. "Just bloody...no! I'm not going to sit in a dress shop and listen to you all squeal for three hours. Believe it or not, Lefevre, I have better things to do with my time."

I kick my Italian dragonhide shoes onto my desk and lean back in my chair, settling in for what I know is going to be a long struggle. One thing I will say for Leolin, she does _not_ give up easily.

"First of all," she says saucily. "I _don't_ believe you have better things to do with your time, because you're single and antisocial and you apparently have the luxury of drinking at two in the afternoon. Second of all, please! I need a male's opinion on my wedding dress! And we're not piglets; there won't be any squealing."

"Take Draco then!" I say indignantly, swiveling so my feet are on the ground again. Now that she's mentioned it, I _do_ need a drink.

She's been in my office now for well over an hour, vainly trying to convince me to join the low-grade torture of helping her pick out a wedding dress. I would, as I've expressed to her several times, rather take a holiday in Hell.

"I can't!" she whines. "I want the dress to be a surprise!"

"Then I'm sure he'll be _titillated_ by whatever you pick," I say in exasperation, crossing to the fully-stocked bar in the corner, dropping a ice cube in my glass before dousing it with vodka. When the glass is half full I stop pouring and take a sip. I then glance back at Leolin and her stupid doe eyes before shaking my head and taking a larger one.

"You and I both know he won't be," Leolin counters, crossing her arms. "That's the problem. He's picky; he has very strong ideas about what he likes and what he doesn't. Look, I know you two are both weird about friendship, but you are his best mate. You _know_ what he'll like."

"We're not weird about friendship!" I say hotly, mostly because we so are, and I don't want to give her any ground by admitting it. "And surely _you_ know what he likes. I mean, Merlin, you're the one shagging him! Are you telling him you don't know what would turn him on?"

She groans, and I take another sip of my drink in response. Women, I'm bloody telling you.

"It's no bloody wonder you're still single, you clot," she levels at me, and I roll my eyes. I've been waiting for her vicious side to come out and play. "It's my wedding day! I don't want him to see me and think 'oh, she's so shaggable!' I want him to think I look beautiful."

I down the rest of my drink. If I end up in rehab for alcoholism, I'll be sending Drake the bill.

"Leolin," I say in the most bored voice possible. "Don't be annoying and needy. You're gorgeous and we all know it. Obviously you'll look good in whatever you wear."

It's true. Drake might not having qualms about telling the rest of us what he doesn't and does not like, but when it comes to Leolin, he'd adore her in a burlap sack. More to the point, she's probably the only person I know who could pull that look off, so all this feels tiresome and terribly unnecessary. Errantly I wonder how hacked off with me Drake would be if I had her chucked out of my office

"Blaise!" she whines, hopping off the desk and stamping her tiny, stillettoed foot. "Please! I'll never ask you for another thing my whole life, I swear."

"Doubtful," I mutter, draining my glass. Still, a thought's just occurred to me, and suddenly I'm feeling more willing to play her stupid game.

"Is—" I begin,trying to sound casual despite the fact there's no point in it. I can tell by the devilish glimmer in Leolin's eye that she knows what I'm about to say. "Will Weasley be there?"

Leolin mirrors my faux indifference. "She's my maid of honour. Of course she's going to be there."

"And who else?" I press, trying to pretend this isn't just about Ginny.

Leolin smirks, knowing the wheel's turning in her favour. Sometimes her and Drake are so alike it scares me.

"Just my mum and stepmum."

"What about Narcissa?"

"I invited her but haven't heard. I assume not."

I sit down in my chair again, mulling over his options.

She leans over the desk. "They say that women have a biological response to looking at wedding dresses, did you know?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" I ask irritably, annoyed she resorted to making up statistics to convince me. I don't need Ginny hyped up on pheromones to score some alone time with her, I assure myself arrogantly.

"It means Ginny is going wondering to herself why she isn't getting married soon. Wedding dress shopping is porn for women."

"So if I _do_ come, what do I get?" I ask finally. I admit the possibility of a horny Ginny is worth bargaining for.

"Depends," she says, giving a wicked smile. "What are you asking for?"

I consider, narrowing my eyes and leaning towards her.

"Drinks with Weasley" I say finally. "…and dinner."

Leolin rolls her eyes, souring my mood again. I am fairly certain, per our conversation at Leolin and Drake's engagement party, that Ginny is _dying_ for me to take her to dinner. I know—or at least I like to believe—that we have chemistry, and that she's just as eager as I am to explore it.

"Fine," she says, extending her hand. "But just for the record, you're a bloody idiot."

I reach to clasp her outstretched palm before recoiling a bit and scowling.

"Wait, why?" I snap. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I can get you that date, but I guarantee it will be the first and last."

I grit my teeth. "Go on, then. Why's that?"

"Because when you're interested in someone, Blaise, you don't _buy_ a date with them. This isn't Ancient Syria; women are no longer property to be bought and traded."

My frown deepens. "Then I see no reason for me to go to your stupid dress do. You can't get something for nothing, love."

"Just come to my stepmother's salon next Saturday at three and I promise you won't disappointed with what you get in return."

"And if I am?" I say, wary. She could be right; if there's one thing I know about Ginny, it's that she's _not_ to be controlled. I might to better off reminding her of our connection, particularly while she watches Leolin picks out a dress, and then casually suggesting we go for drinks after.

"You won't be," she assures me.

"Oh no, you're not slipping the noose that easily, Lef. What do I get if you're stupid dress theory is a bust and Weasley goes on ignoring me? It's been bloody eight months since she broke up with Wood and she still treats me like I'm invisible!"

"She's been in Wales," Leolin defends lamely. I give her a bored look to communicate I'm not buying it. She's been back several times since, and she's even gone to dinner with Leolin _and_ Draco. There's no denying how annoying it is that she deigned to see Drake and not be. "Fine," Leolin finally concedes. "If Ginny ignores you then I'll give you…ten thousand galleons."

"Please," I say, giving an arrogant laugh. "That's chump change and you know it."

Leolin bites her lip, and I can tell she's about to give up something grand. This was why she's bad at cards; she's comically extravagant in her bluffs.

"You can have Draco's new Vanquish, then," she blurts.

I grin. Drake's just bought a very exclusive vintage muggle car and spent a fortune on upgrading it to a vehicle even the most stringent Wizarding elitist could love. Now, in addition to reaching break-neck speeds in the blink of an eye, it can turn invisible and apparate. It truly was a thing of beauty, and it's Draco's pride and joy. More importantly, it's _utterly_ irreplaceable.

"Done," I say at once, shaking her hand. "But just know that if I win that car, I'm not even going to drive it. I'm just going to soak it in kerosene and watch it burn."

Leolin rolled her eyes and signed as well. "You're one sick puppy, you know that?"

"I know," I say, smirking at her as I fold the contract and tuck it into his breast pocket. "It's one of the things you love about me. See you Saturday."

x

"This has been fun, Mum," I say, setting down my napkin and snapping for the waiter. "But I've got to run."

It's become something of a tradition since I graduated school that my mum and I go to breakfast Saturday mornings, and while they've been known to drag, this one has been a marathon for the books. I've long suspected that my mum is some sort of twisted visionary who can either see into my mind, my future, or both, and it was all but confirmed by exceptionally-pointed barrage of questions she pelted me with from the moment I sat down this morning.

'Why wasn't I dating anyone?' she wanted to know. What about Daphne Greengrass? Or didn't she have a younger sister? Maybe I ought to think about going back to Naples for a bit; there were plenty of young witches there. Had I ever considered moving abroad?

"Go?" she says, frowning. "But you just got here, cucciolo."

I fight to roll my eyes, firstly because I'm hardly a pup anymore—I'm six inches taller than her, even in the heels she wears—and secondly, because we've been at the restaurant for well over two hours.

"Scusa," I toss out half-heartedly. "But I have an appointment."

"What kind of appointment?" she presses.

I can already see where this is going, and I'm desperate to avoid it. The last thing my situation with Ginny needs is my mum meddling in the middle.

"A boring one," I assure her, signing my Gringotts note and standing. "Good to see you Mum," I offer, kissing her cheek as she stands as well. "I'll floo you tomorrow."

"Where's the fire, darling?" she said, falling in step with me.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, casually checking my watch. Bollocks, I'm already fifteen minutes late. Still there was nothing to be done about it; considering what my mom's going through with Gia, I owe her my full attention.

"There's certainly enough smoke," she points out, looping her arm through mine. "What are you up to? It's not like you to be this secretive."

"Is it not?" I respond in a glib voice.

"Let me guess," she says coyly. "C'è una donna coinvolta."

"What?" I demand hotly. "No, there's no woman involved."

"Are you sure, darling?"

Tried of her wheedling, I roll my eyes.

"Drake's fianceé Leolin asked me if I'd offer a male's opinion on her wedding dress."

"How generous of you," she points out. "Is this Ariadne's Madoc's daughter? The one you—"

"Lef and I are just friends," I say firmly.

"She's awfully beautiful, no?"

"That was a one-time mistake, it was a million years ago, and she's the love of Draco's life. I assure you I'm not secretly in love with her."

"Well this is an awfully big favour for a friend. Or have you developed an interest in fashion I don't know about?"

"Can you not?" I snap more harshly than I mean to. "It's exhausting to constantly be on trial like this."

"Don't be so dramatic, tesoro. It's just that after everything that's gone on with your sis—with Giacomina, I just—I want to be more involved in you life. Is that such a crime?"

I clench my jaw, not wanting to admit she's right even though I know she is. I think about everything she must have gone through and everything she's still going through. It's always been us against the world, and I have an innate need to protect her happiness.

"Of course not," I say. "I know you must be—" I break off. "I just—I'm late."

We reached Amelie's shop by now, and I'm downright anxious. This is dangerously close to blowing up, if it hasn't already, and I can't bear my mum to find out about Ginny. She knows me too well; she'll take one look at Ginny and know the whole story.

"You must thing very little of me," she says mildly, playing on my sympathy. "Not to want me to come with you."

"Of course not," I say. "I'll floo you tomorrow and we can go to lunch again. You can even bring August, if you want."

"Or we can just spend more time together now," she says firmly, pushing the door open before I can stop her. "I haven't seen Ari in an age, and it's going to be fifteen years before I get to take Gia shopping for a dress, if she even lets me take her at all."

"Mother, questo è ridicolo!" I plead, hoping my use of Italian might get through to her better sense. "Tu non sai nemmeno Leolin—"

"Blaise," she snaps back. "è che come si sta andando a parlare con la donna che ti ha dato la vita?"

Leolin's on her feet as I burst into the room, my mother on my heels.

"Sorry I'm late, darling," I say, brushing a distracted kiss on her cheek. I'm already forming a game plan for keeping my mum away from Ginny. "And sorry about—this," I gesture to my mum. "This is my mother Laurentina. She insisted on coming, my protestations be damned. She is quite impossible to dissuade."

"Blaise," my mum says in her most melodic voice, kissing Leolin on the cheek as if they were old friends. "I am perfectly capable of introducing myself, and I'll thank you _not_ to apologize for my behaviour."

"Hello Leolin my dear," she purrs, her eyes warm and inviting. "lovely to meet you. I've heard such wonderful things about you from Blaise, and Draco, of course. And please, call me Lauren. My full name is so obnoxiously—foreign."

I scowl at this, though I'm not sure why, since I'm an Italian in name only. It makes Leolin laugh, and I can't decide if I'm warmed by it or annoyed. I still haven't managed to fit in a glance at Ginny, and it's bloody killing me.

"And you must be Amelie Bellenger," my mum continues, stepping around to kiss Amelie's cheeks. "Your Leolin's stepmother? Ah, I just love your designs. I wore one of your dresses the other day, in fact. I didn't realise that you'd opened a shop in London, or I would have come sooner!"

She then turns to Leolin's mother, beaming and opening her arms. Merlin, how long this going to bloody go on? "And Ari darling, how lovely it is to see you after so long."

They two embrace like old friends, and Leolin and I exchange an odd look. I wonder if she's thinking the same thing that I am, that I had no idea they knew each other.

"My God, Lauren, you have not aged a day!" Ariadne exclaims.

It's true. My mom could still pass for twenty-five, which always makes for awkardness when we're mistaken for lovers and not mother and son.

"Oh stop," my mum laughs delicately. "I'm seven husbands deep! Believe me, I've aged a lifetime."

"Mum—" I say doggedly, casting a quick glance at Ginny to see how she's taking all this. We meet eyes for a second, and as always my heart flutters. Still, I hastily look away to avoid my mother noticing.

Too late.

She's seen Ginny now, and she beams as she eyes her appreciatively. I can tell she already know this is why I've agreed to come.

"I'm sorry, and you are?" she says keenly, examining Ginny warmly before turning to me expectantly for a proper introduction. Her eyes are glittering dangerously as she takes Ginny in, and Ginny blushes prettily under her penitrative gaze. Merlin, she looks even more beautiful when she does that.

"Mother," I say, tentatively ushering the two closer together. Too late to fight it now. Better to stay calm; I'm not the king of insouciance for nothing. "This is Ginevra Weasley. She's Leolin's maid of honour."

"Ah, Molly Prewett's daughter, of course," Mum says, smiling and taking both of Ginny's hands in her own. "Merlin, aren't you just beautiful! You look quite a bit like her, you know. You have that same lovely hair."

To my mild horror, my mum leans forward forward to touch a lock delicately, and Ginny blush darkens. It warms a deep pit in my stomach, and call me a swine, but I can't help imagining her cheeks stained the same shade as I drive into her, listening to her groan in ecstasy.

"Thank you," Ginny says, clearly a trifle embarrassed by the attention.

"Knock it off, Mum," I offer flatly. "You're making Weasley uncomfortable."

"Blaise Consus Zabini," she snaps, whacking me with her purse and making me wince. What's she got in there, bloody bricks? "Who raised you to be so rude?" she continues in the same lecturing tone. "A gentleman doesn't address a lady by her surname."

I roll my eyes and my mum smacks me again, making both Ginny and Leolin laugh.

"Ginevra my darling," Lauren said conspiratorially, trying back to Ginny. "I can't _believe_ that Blaise has never mentioned you before! What a boor I've raised." Her tone's full of meaning, and Ginny bites her lip and gave an uncomfortable laugh. Again, I imagine biting on that lip myself.

"Mum—" I warn instead.

However, as usual, my mum's not to be deterred. She raises her eyebrows at me expectedly.

"What was I meant to say?" I snap in response. This is going about as poorly as I could ever have imagined.

Here, Mum turns to Ginny for explanation instead, who by this time is blushing worse that ever.

"I was in Gryffindor," Ginny offers lamely. "We only just started being…friends since Leolin and Draco got engaged."

"Friends?" my mum says, her smile widening. I can help my heart skipping a beat at what Ginny's said, especially because she spares me a glance. However, when she looks away, clearly embarrassed by my mum's dogged attention, I'm tempted to swear out loud.

"How happy I am that my son has a—friend as lovely as you!" my mum continues.

"Oh sod this, I need a drink," I mutter.

"Language, Blaise!" my mum warns, hitting me for a third time and pushing me to the very edge of my patience.

I growl in frustration, looking at Leolin and mouthing "Vanquish". She shakes her head, subtly indicating that I should sit down next to Ginny while the seat's still unoccupied. However, my mum rather predictably beats me to it, indicating that Ginny should sit next to her instead.

"Come over here, Ginevra. You can sit next to me and tell me all about how you and my son became such good...friends.".

"Something to drink, sir?" Marc, the attendant, asks at what can only be described as the perfect time, considering I was about one milisecond away from storming out of here and setting Drake's car on fire.

"Vodka tonic," I snap, folding my arms across my chest. "And double it."

"At two in the afternoon, Blaise?" my mum needles, pursing her lips.

"I'm a grown man," I growl "I'll do as I please."

"Should we get started?" Amelie blessedly suggests. "Now that we are all here, I mean."

"Yes," Ariadne agrees. "Go ahead, Leolin darling, go put on the first dress."

I'm relieved. The sooner we get this started, the sooner I can leave. At this point, I'm fairly sure my mum's buggered my chances with Ginny, so I just want Leolin to fork over the pink slip and take the Vanquish for a spin. Maybe I'll keep it after all.

Just then the bell chimes, and I roll my eyes. Now what?

"Who could that be?" Ariadne asks. "Did you invite anyone else?"

"No," Leolin says "No one except—"

"Forgive my tardiness," Narcissa says, sweeping it the room as if she owns it. As she does, it's as if the temperature drops ten degrees. She really is terrifying; no real point denying it. "Being the minister's wife is something of a trying business," she continues coolly. "Hello Leolin."

"Naricssa," she stammers, trying to hide her surprise. "I'm sorry, I—I had no idea you'd actually—"

"No need to finish that sentence, darling," Narcissa said with a chilly smile. Of course I came. You're the closest thing to a daughter I'll ever have; I wouldn't miss my only chance to help pick out a wedding gown. Besides, I would blame myself if you chose something—" letting the implication that Leolin didn't dress well hang in the air. "—less than perfect. After all, we Malfoy brides have a reputation to protect."

Merlin, shots fired. Still, Leolin seems to take the jab in stride. Better than I would have, at any rate.

"Can I offer you champagne?" she asks in response, trying desperately to bite back her annoyance. I know Drake and Narcissa have been bonding since the engagement ball, and she doesn't want to spoil it by rising to Narcissa's petty bait and causing a scene. There are genuinely times I worry Drake doesn't deserve her. Still, I suppose he'd done his fair share of groveling to get in her parents to approve of him.

"Please," Narcissa says, smoothing back her hair. She looks tired and a bit drawn. Can't really blame her; I certainly would want to be married to a prick like Lucius.

Leolin hands her a glass and Narcissa takes a heady sip before addressing the other women in the room.

"Hello Ariadne, Lauren."

Her tone's curt, as are their replies. I know my mum's no particular fan of hers.

"Narcissa," they echo.

"What a surprise," Ariadne said coldly. "Leolin was so sure you weren't coming."

"Well, I'm full of surprises, dear," Narcissa said eying Leolin's mother. You can practically see the teenage girl inside her sizing up her old nemesis. "You look well, Ariadne. The single life suits you."

One thing you had to say about Narcissa Malfoy, the woman knows her way around a back-handed compliment.

"And married life you," Ariadne replies in a perfectly even tone. Even though I don't know her, I can tell she's fighting to remain pleasant. "How _is_ Lucius?"

Narcissa purses his lips. I wonder if she ever wishes their places were reversed, and Ariadne was the one who'd married Lucius. "Terribly busy, I'm afraid," she replies. "And you, Lauren? How's August?"

"Lovely as ever," Mum says, the twinkle in her eye now dead.

"Well, I always said seventh time would be the charm for you," Narcissa snipes, and immediately I feel myself tensing for a fight. I've spend my whole life defending my mum, and after everything she's been through, I can't abide by people disrespecting her. However, she subtly places a hand on mine to signal I do nothing, and grudgingly I acquiesce.

"Now, Leolin," Narcissa says imperiously. "Where should I sit?"

Her eyes fall on Ginny's occupied seat, and Ginny's quick to take the hint.

"Here," she offers. "Take mine. I'll go sit on the end."

She stands, and Narcissa sinks down in her place.

"Thank you, Ginevra," she says blandly.

I watch with a dull glee as Ginny moves to sit next to me instead, flashing me a bright-eyed look.

"Okay, we have waited long enough," Amelie says, and I breathe a sigh of relief as Marc hands me a fresh drink. "Venez, lapin, let us get you in a wedding dress."

Leolin emerges a minute later in a voluminous ball gown. Bleh, I think privately. She looks like a bloody cupcake. Still, I've decided not to comment unless directly asked.

"I don't know that I like it," Leolin said at once.

"It is an awful lot of gown," Ariadne admits.

"I don't think it's you," Ginny agrees.

 _Good_ , I think to myself. That means I won't have to see her in something similar when she finally agrees to marry me.

Leolin's next gown's just the opposite. It was extraordinarily simply, with long sleeves and an almost columnar shape.

"Too simple," Narcissa says immediately. "Your surrounding will outshine you."

Leolin wrinkles her nose.

"I feel like a schoolteacher."

I pretend to pay attention as Leolin cycles through several more dress that—if I'm being honest, all look exactly the same—before letting my mind wander to more interesting thoughts. I can't tell if it's my imagination or not, but it seems to me that Ginny's shifted slightly in her chair, and in doing so she's leaning more into me. At any rate, I can suddenly smell her vanilla shampoo, and I am absurdly tempted to press my nose to her auburn mane. Instead I settle for stealing a glance at her, only to find Leolin was right; she's completely enthralled. Suddenly I have a temptation too enticing to resist. Glancing over, I find my mum is also completely engaged.

Casually I glance at my watch before adjusting my position and slinging an arm across the back of Ginny's chair. She's leaning forward so she doesn't notice, but I admit I can't wait for her to settle back. I feign a yawn for no one in particular's sake when Leolin turns to me.

"Blaise, what do you think?"

Bollocks. I quickly survey the glitzy, mermaid-shaped dress and shake my head, taking a large sip of my drink and gesturing for another. "I say no. It's too vampy."

Finally, after what feels like ten lifetimes (and what has genuinely lasted the span of three vodka tonics), Leolin emerges in a gown that leaves the room momentarily speechless. I don't have the expertise—or frankly, the interest—to describe what so perfect about it, but I know at once it's the one she'll choose. For the first time all afternoon, she truly looks like a bride, and she's breathtaking. Drake's gonna lose his mind.

"Oh Leolin!" Ginny says at last, her hand inadvertently falling on my knee and making it hard to breathe. "It's absolutely incredible!" It's here that she actually turns to me, eyes sparkling. I feel like I've been punched in the chest in the most pleasurable way possible. I could live off the look in her eyes "Don't you think?"

I don't even want to stop looking at her, but finally I'm forced to, and my eyes drag back to Leolin. "I agree with Weasley," I say. "You're perfection in this."

As the others offer their approval as well, I turn back to Ginny, feeling almost dazed. Suppose Drake's going to get to keep his Vanquish after all, because Leolin's right; that look's made this whole bloody thing worth it.

* * *

As I watch Leolin beam at herself in the mirror, I feel like I'm going to cry. I can't really say why, but it's been such an emotional afternoon, and you honestly can't help getting choked up at seeing your best friend look that beautiful and happy.

Besides, it's not just that. I fight not to glance at Blaise, who's arm is still slung across the back of my chair. Had he done that on purpose? I'm heart flutters annoyingly at the prospect.

"Draco is very lucky," his mum Lauren offers as Leolin gives an elegant twirl. "You'll be hard pressed to find a more beautiful bride, tesoro."

She gives Blaise a penetrative look I know very well from my own mother, and he scowls.

"Gods, woman," he snaps. "Leave me be!"

"Still," she continues, looking back at me and making me blush stupidly. "I have a feeling you won't keep me waiting too much longer."

 _Does she know about us?_ I wonder silently, pretending not to notice her studying me. I've always gotten the impression she and Blaise are fairly close. Could it be that he's confessed something to her about me? A warm thrill tingles down my spine at the thought.

By this time Leolin's emerged from the back in her regular clothes.

"You two fancy a drink?" she asks, as if reading my mind. "I feel like I might need one after that."

I glance at my watch to avoid seeming over-eager. In reality, I'd been desperate for her to suggest it. The truth is that I haven't stopped thinking about Blaise since I broke up with Oliver and left for Wales, and I admit some lame part of me has been hoping he'll try and make another move. If he were to, I think I might—

"Absolutely," I cast out nonchalantly, as if the idea is merely amenable and not my heart's desire. I turn to look at Blaise casually."Blaise?"

"Blaise, non essere testardo. Andare dopo di lei," Lauren says at once, her voice positively musical.

I have no idea what she's said, but I can guess. _Listen to your mum, Z._

"Si prega di rimanere fuori da questa, Mum," he snaps irritably. "Alright," he concedes finally, rubbing his jaw. "A quick one, then."

He seems annoyed, and suddenly I feel incredibly sheepish. Oh gods, has he finally packed it in and moved on, and now I'm somehow the besotted one?

"Excellent," Leolin says, winking conspiratorially at Lauren. "Let's go then."

I nod and turn my back to Blaise in a show of collecting my things. Maybe I shouldn't go; the last thing I need right now is to be embarrassed by Blaise Zabini after years of dogged attention from him. After everything that's gone down between us, I don't thing I could bare the humiliation. Maybe I ought to just go back to loathing him; really bring this thing full circle.

"Coming, Ginevra?" he says mildly, and I straighten to find him watching me. His expression is insouciant, but he seems less agitated. Ultimately, the temptation to see where this rabbit hole leads is too great, and I nod.

"After you, then," he says, genteelly waiting for me to get my arse moving.

He holds the door for me as we step into the street, and he's close enough behind me that I can feel his whole frame tense as we see who Lai's talking to.

"Kelly," I breathe after a beat of awkward silence, trying to act normal. "It so lovely to see you!"

I wonder to myself if I really mean that. I know he was less than thrilled with me when I broke things off with Oliver, and I can only imagine what Leolin must be thinking, though it's not hard to guess what Blaise is.

"You too," Kelly offers politely. "Both of you."

He only manages to maintain eye contact with me for a second or so before his gaze snaps back to Leolin, drinking her in mournfully. It's been almost two years since they broke up, but I can tell in an instant he's still as in love with her now as he was then.

"It's been an age," Leolin fumbles out finally, and Blaise rolls his eyes.

"We should be going," he says pointedly, visibly annoyed.

Leolin shoots me a pleading look and I see an opportunity, not only to help her out of a jam, but also to get a second alone with Zabini.

"No, it's alright," I assure her. "Zabini and I are going to head to High Clerk. Meet you there?"

"Yeah," Leolin says, trying to avoid Blaise's eye. "Meet you there."

I nod my silent goodbye to her and Kelly before turning up the street. However, Blaise remains frozen and glaring for a second, and I feel a spike of panic and annoyance, both at him and myself. Would he really rather babysit Leolin than have a drink with me, and do I really care if he does? It doesn't matter on either score, I decide. I know Leolin's been desperate to clear the air with Kelly for ages, and I'd say after what Malfoy pulled to break them up, he more than owes her that opportunity.

"C'mon, Zabini," I urge, tugging at his sleeve before feeling stupid for it. What am I, five? "Let's go."

Finally he acquiesces, starting up the street at such a good clip that I have to practically jog to keep up. Well this is off to a cracking start.

My floo starts to smoke green to signal Leolin's messaged me just as we step into the High Clerk, a cozy ale house just off Diagon.

"Are you going to get that?" Zabini says mildly as he holds the door for me.

Cautiously, I flick it open.

 _I'm going for a pint with Kelly to clear the air. Please don't tell Blaise._

"Well?" Blaise asks as we settle down at a table near the window.

"Lai's not coming," I admit. "It's—just going to be us."

He growls in annoyance and immediately whips out his own lighter.

"What are you doing?" I demand.

"Flooing Drake, obviously."

"Don't," I say immediately, touching his arm in an attempt to lower his hand.

"He deserves to know!" he snaps.

"Zabini," I say sternly, meeting his gaze. "Hang up the floo."

"He—"

"Don't you trust her?" I ask. "She's not doing this so she can be alone with Kelly; she'd never do that."

"She shouldn't be out with him at all," he admonishes, but he's lowered the floo now.

"Put yourself in her shoes," I say. "She cheated on Kelly and broke his heart. You saw him; he's still not over it, or her."

"Which is exactly why she shouldn't be sneaking around with him behind Draco's back."

"She's not 'sneaking around'. She just wants to clear the air," I explain.

"Then she should tell Draco."

"I'm sure she will, but it needs to come from her, not you."

"She—"

"Frankly," I snap. "He owes her this. He may not have cared about Borgia's feelings when he cheated on her with Lai, but she cared about Kelly's, and she's always felt incredibly guilty about it. Things between her and Malfoy will never be completely right until she sorts this thing with Kelly out. It doesn't mean she still has feelings for him."

"Fine," he acquiesces finally. "But I'm not going to lie for her. If he asks me where she's been, I'm going to tell him."

"That's fair," I admit, and he nods tightly, and I realise now that he's yet to take off his coat.

"Are you going to—" I begin, feeling incredibly stupid that I've already taken off mine. "I mean obviously you can go now, if you want. I know you were just doing this as a favour to Lai."

"No!" he says quickly, and my hearts flutters. Oh thank _Merlin._ "I mean," he says, looking away casually. "We're already here, and I wasn't lying when I said I needed a drink after that trying ordeal."

I laugh, relieved beyond belief.

"You had three drinks at the salon."

"You can't drink all day if you don't start in the morning," he points out, smiling for the first time as he shrugs out of his well-tailored coat. "What can I get you?"

I smile back. Gods, he's so handsome.

"A blonde ale."

"In December, Weasley?" he says wryly.

I secretly admit to myself that prefer when he calls me Ginevra.

"Don't judge me," I say, and his smile widens.

"I wouldn't dare," he flirts back. "Try not to miss me too much while I'm gone."

I roll my eyes good naturedly.

"In your dreams, loverboy."

He smirks at this before heads to the bar. While he's gone, I hastily reapply my lipstick and give my hair an artful tousle, stuffing my compact back into my bag as he approaches.

"Cheers," I say as he sends the pint down in front of me before settling in across table. "And blah, blah, confusion to our enemies," I finish, making him laugh.

"Here's hoping Troy spills beer in his lap and everyone, including Leolin, thinks he's wet himself."

"Be nice," I tease, touching my glass to his.

"That _was_ me being nice," he says, taking a sip of his dark beer before frowning and admiring it. "Damn, that's good. I'm not usually one for beer, but this one's pretty class."

"What is it?" I venture.

He smirks at me.

"Coffee porter. Fancy a taste?"

I consider before accepting the glass.

"It is good," I agree, blushing a little as he wipes my lipstick from the rim. So much for the hope he hadn't noticed I had any on.

"So," he begins after a minute. "How's Wales?" Lai said you've been tearing it up."

I blush, feeling embarassed but admittedly proud.

"It's been an amazing experience so far," I admit. "I've met loads of interesting people, and Gwenog's a brilliant mentor. I've learned a ton from her already."

"I heard you were made a starter," he says keenly. "That's brilliant."

"It's only because Cecelia Rakes got hurt," I explain.

"Hmm," he says. "And yet I read she's recovered and is still on the bench."

"Have you being keeping tabs on me?" I ask flirtatiously.

He raises his eyebrows and something warm pools in my stomach.

"Maybe," he says.

This is the saucier interaction we've ever had, and damn, it feels so...easy. Dangerously so, in fact. Damnit, I kinda hate this. I'm nothing if not a control freak. Though, do I hate it? I'm actually afraid I love it. I've never had a bloke get me on the ropes like this. Still, it's..intriguing, if not something stronger.

"And yet you still haven't made it to Holyhead," I shoot back breezily.

"I'm just waiting for a proper invitation," he flirts back.

"Never pegged you as a the type of bloke who needed one, O Prince of Slytherin."

He smirks.

"I'll take that challenge," he says. "When are you back in season?"

"I leave for Wales after New Years for training. The first Match is early April."

"Damn," he says lightly. "That's an annoyingly long time to wait."

"I like to think it's worth it," I challenge.

"Agreed," he says, and I laugh, blushing a little.

We lapse into a comfortable silence as we both take a sip.

"So," I say at last. "It was nice to meet your mum and finally put a face to the stories."

He gives an uncomfortable laugh, and I hope I haven't offended him. I didn't mean it as a jab at her.

"She's stunning," I add to show I meant it sincerely. "Is it true that's she a supermodel?"

He considers before answering.

"It is," he says finally, though he seems more guarded. "Or she was. She's retired now."

At this point I realise I must be kind of drunk, because my next question just sort of slips out without my totally meaning it to.

"What about your father?"

"What about him?" he asks, as if challenging me.

"Is he—"

"Dead?" he offers flatly, and I immediately feel bad for being so nosy. "Yes. He died a long time ago."

I nod, looking down. I don't know why I said that; it's clearly a sore subject.

"If you're going to ask if she killed him," he bites out after a moment of silence. "The answer is no. He was sick."

"I wasn't," I say hurriedly, feeling even worse now. "I didn't mean—"

"I know what people say about her," he interrupts. "But none of it's true."

"I'm sorry," I repeat, feeling incredibly sheepish. "I didn't mean to pry."

"I know you didn't," he sighs. "I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"And I'm sorry about your dad. How old were you?"

"Little," he affirms. "But I still remember him. He and my mum really loved each other. He gave up his trust for her."

"I can see why," I say honestly. "She's wonderful."

"It was really hard on her when he died," he admits, nodding a wordless thanks as a waitress traipses by and refills our glasses with a flick of her wand. "And she made some bad choices."

I nod sympathetically.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want," I assure him, touching his wrist across the table.

"No I—" he begins, looking up at me. "It feels good to have someone to talk to about this. Can I—" he pauses again. "Tell you something private? I haven't even told Drake yet."

"Of course," I say automatically. It's honestly a bit dizzying how comfortable this all is.

"I just found out that I have a half sister on my mum's side."

"What?" I ask, stunned. "Older?"

He shakes his head.

"Younger. Her name's Giocomina, but everyone calls her Gia."

"And you didn't know?" I ask quietly. "How?"

He sighs, considering what to say.

"Shortly after my dad died, this bloke called Adamo Albertghini started sniffing around my mum. He was a super rich baron or some rot, and he and his wife had just divorced. My mom was modeling and trying to make ends meet, but she was still young, and she had me, and money was—tight. Adamo begged her to marry him, and he promised to help launch her career, which he did. Six months after the wedding she was walking every runway in Milan. The problem was Adamo was a drinker with an Italian temper, and it didn't take very long for him to start taking things out on my mum."

"I'm sorry," I say immediately. "That's terrible."

"He really resented the fact that she'd loved my dad—as if that were her fault—and he absolutely hated me. It made for some pretty nasty fights. I started spending more and more time with my Nonna, and she started taking more jobs in Paris to get away from him."

I nod my understanding, and he continues.

"While she was there, she met this British bloke, Leonard Shacklebolt."

"The Minister's brother?"

He nods.

"He was an Unspeakable for the Ministry, and he was in Paris working on something for Scrimgouer, who was in office at the time. Anyways, I guess they started carrying on, and she got pregnant."

"I assume she didn't want Adamo thinking he was the father."

"She couldn't have pulled that off if she tried," he explains. "I mean, the Shacklebolts are from Barbados; they're black."

"Oh, right," I say, feeling stupid. I'm not unaware of my white privilege—I know I fall victim to it more often than I should—I realise for the first time that it's something he and Lauren don't have the luxury of ignoring.

"Anyways," he continues. "Obviously she was able to hide it pretty well, and when it was time to have the baby, she went to London."

"Did she give birth at St. Mungo's?"

He shakes his head.

"How could she? Someone would have seen her."

"So she had your sister alone? How—"

"No, I—" he interrupts. "Honestly, this is the weirdest part of this whole thing. I guess—Snape helped her deliver."

" _Severus_ Snape?" I demand.

He laughs sheepishly.

"I know, that was my reaction as well."

"Snape as a midwife," I say somewhat dazedly. "Not sure I'll ever see him the same way."

"Me either," he laughs weakly. "After Gia was born, Leonard agreed to look after her and not tell anyone who her mother was. One thing I'll say for him, the man knew how to keep a secret. Though I suppose you don't work in the Department of Mysteries if you've got a big mouth. Besides, there was nothing for it but to keep it a secret. Adamo would have gone mental if he ever found it."

"And he never did?" I ask.

"No," he continues sadly. "He did. He started to get suspicious, and finally he managed to intercept an owl between Leonard and my mom."

"And what did he do?"

"Came unglued. My mum and I both happened to be home, and he went off. He and my mum ended up getting into an incredibly nasty duel."

"And she—" I begin, and he clenches his jaw and looks down.

"She had to," he says quietly. "That's why no charges were ever filed against her; she was in a fight for both of our lives."

I can't believe he's been living with this all these years. I think of what Blaise has said about Malfoy being an exceptional friend, and suddenly I feel a rush of warmth towards him. He must know all this, and it's obvious now that he's been helping Blaise to shoulder the burden.

"Blaise," I say, touching his arm. "I am _so_ sorry."

He nods, looking down at the table.

"That's how all those black widow rumours started. The first person to cover the story in England was the hideous Skeeter woman. 'Lethal Laurentina.' That's what she called my mum."

"She's a snake," I assure him venomously. "No one believes her rubbish."

"Obviously they do," he says, sounding bitter. "Because every time my mum get's divorced or remarried, it somehow comes up."

"Well fuck her," I say. "She's obviously just jealous."

He gives a weak smile that makes me want to hug him.

"That's what I always tell my mum, too."

There's a temporary silence.

"What happened with your sister?"

"When Adamo died, and my mum moved us back to London immediately so she could be closer to her. The problem was that Gia was four by then, and her dad decided it would be confusing for my mum to suddenly come back into her life. My mum was devastated of course, but what could she do? She'd signed away her parental rights."

"And she never told you?"

"What would have been the point? I wouldn't have been allowed to see her."

"So, what's changed?"

"Leonard died a month ago in an accident at the Department, and his brother decided to let my mum to finally make contact."

He pauses momentarily as the waitress once again refills our glasses. I'm not sure if its the beer or his story, but I've begun to feel delightfully light-headed.

"So what's she like?"

"She's a hellion," he admits, smiling for the first time in a while.

"Girl after my own heart," I say. "How old?"

"Thirteen."

"Slytherin?"

He gives me a knowing look.

"Would we care about her if she wasn't?"

I laugh.

"I should hope so!"

He shrugs, laughing too.

"Good thing we don't have to find out, then. I guess the hat barely even had to touch her head."

"You must be very proud," I reply in a glib voice.

"Extremely."

Have you met her yet?" I press.

"Last week," he admits. "She looks just like my mum. Honestly, how no one figured out who she was is a total mystery to me."

"You know as her older brother it's going to be your job to fight the boys off, right?"

"Oh I know," he says, clearly reveling a bit in the prospect. "Maybe Ronald and the other sixty brothers you have can give me some pointers."

"They've certainly acquired a lifetime of knowledge on the subject. Ron would no doubt advise just acting like a deranged lunatic, but Fred and George will probably try to sell you a puking pastille. Believe me, they work terrifyingly well."

"Brilliant," he says, smiling fully now and displaying a dazzling array of pearly teeth. I wonder if he bleaches them like Pucey; I bet he doesn't. "I thought I was going to have to ask Lef for that puking charm she used on Drake."

I laugh; I'd forgotten all about that. Merlin, that felt like a different lifetime. I'd honestly forgotten there'd actually been a time that she and Malfoy were anything but desperately in love.

"Apparently she's brilliant at Potions," he continues proudly. "She's Snape favourite student."

"Make sense, considering he brought her into this world," I laugh.

"I don't think they told her that bit, thank Merlin," he says.

"What else?" I press.

I can tell how excited he is about all this, though it's muted by his well-honed stoicism. Still, it feels like another glimpse into who he is beneath all that bullshite, and I admit it's rather intoxicating.

"She's funny," he says, smiling. "Not like 'precocious kid' funny. I mean, like _really_ funny. Honestly, she had me in stitches."

"Is your mum happy to have her back?"

His joy dampens, and I know immediately that I've said the wrong thing.

"I think Gia's still too young to understand why my mum did what she did, so she's still pretty—bitter. She's been refusing to see her."

"That can't be easy for your mum," I offer, and he shakes his head.

"It's not. But she's been really understanding about it."

"She'll come around when she's older," I assure him.

"I hope so," he admits.

"She will," I repeat. "We hellion woman just like things on our own terms."

He gives a crooked smile, jade eyes glittering. I bet his sister has the same ones, if she looks like Lauren.

"She actually reminds you a bit," he says.

It sends a rush of warmth to my stomach. I don't wan to embarrass him by blurting what a compliment that is, though the amount of beer I've drunk by this point makes it rather difficult.

"She's a ginger?" I tease.

He laughs.

"She's smart, feisty," he pauses for a second, studying me in a way that honestly makes me want to throw him down and shag him senseless. "Beautiful."

The desire to shag him increases about ten fold, and I lick my lips. I've obviously always assumed he thought I was good-looking, but he's never actually come out and said it before.

"I'm flattered," I admit. "Maybe I'll get to meet her someday."

"She's love that," he says immediately. "She's a huge Holyhead supporter."

"Really?" I laugh. I still forget that people are actually fans of what I do. "Why?"

"Because she's got shite taste?" he teases, and I slap him playfully on the arm.

"Because just like you, she's a strong, self-assured young women, and she looks up to an all-female team as badarse as you lot."

"Thank you," I breathe stupidly, feeling downright bashful. "It's nice to hear we're making a difference for girls. I know when I was growing up, there weren't nearly enough female quidditch players."

"Well then here's to breaking barriers," he offers, raising yet another full pint.

"And here's to strong women," I reply.

"The only kind worth pursuing," he assures me. "Or drinking to. Or with."

I hide my blush as I take another sip. The conversation slips easily into a discussion of our friends and Leolin's dress.

"Honestly, the whole thing was low-grade torture," he admits, smirking. His eyes are glinting in the pub's half light, and I think I may be seeing him drunk for the first time. Or least since our night at The Em.

"Then why'd you agree to go?" I laugh.

I'm pleasantly drunk myself.

"Leolin asked me, and I couldn't say no."

"You too, huh?" I ask mildly, trying to cover up the mild jealousy in my tone.

Leolin has always had the masterful ability to manipulate the opposite sex, from her dad all the way down to her professors or bartenders.

"No," he laughs defensively. "She just made me an offer I didn't think prudent to refuse."

I think he's talking about me, and I'm drunk enough now that I'm willing to push the issue. I admit I want him to show his hand so I can play mine.

"And what was that?" I whisper, leaning slightly over the table.

I watch his eyes flick to my lips, and I wet them for effect.

"Give you three guesses," he returns, and as I'm deciding whether or not I want to snog him senseless in this bar, my floo smokes.

He laughs and leans back to drain his glass, and I can't decide if he's relieved or disappointed.

"Who is it?" he asks casually.

"My mum," I say, hastily scrawling a reply. "I didn't realise it had gotten so late."

"Are you staying with them for the Holidays?" he asks.

I wonder if he's trying to decide if he ought to invite me back to his place. He probably should, because I'm ready to shag his brains out. For a second I imagine what he's skin going to look like next to mine, and I find myself hoping he had a mirror in his bedroom so I can find out.

"Yeah," I say. "There was no point in renting out a flat for the short time I'm here."

"Didn't fancy staying with Lef and Drake?" he laughs.

"Are you kidding me? They shag like a hundred times a day, and she is so bloody _loud_ about it!"

"Oh you don't have to tell me," he says with a good-natured shudder. "I had to live through a year of it at Hogwarts. If you ever want a good laugh, ask Pucey about it some time. He'll go mental. So, do you need me to see you home?"

I consider. The prudent thing to do would be to accept; there would be no shagging if I went home to the Burrow. On the other hand...

"I don't want to bother my parents. I'll just stay at Lai's old flat. That way I can walk. If I'm being honest, apparating sounds awful right now."

He laughs.

"I'll walk you, then," he offers. "Let me just pay the tab."

"Oh here," I say, awkwardly trying to wrestle my wallet from my bag.

"You're money's no good here, woman," he says, already striding to the bar.

The minute he's back's turn I fish a tin of mints from my purse, popping three in my mouth. Oh gods, I'm an idiot; instantly my mouth becomes a wintery tundra. Still, it's better than beer breath. When he comes back he's chewing a piece of gum. So we are on the same page. My heart's hammering in my chest as he helps me slide my arms into my coat. Am I really doing this? _Should_ I be? Maybe I ought to wait until we're both sober. Oh sod that, I'd be doing this even if I was.

It's cold outside and a light snow's begun to fall, but the cool air feels good against my flushed cheeks.

"So," I say as we turn off a Knockturn and ascend the steps to Leolin's flat. "Was Leolin right?"

"About?" he asks keenly.

"Was whatever she promises you to come today worth it?"

He considers the question, and me.

"More than," he assures me, and I feel stupidly weak-kneed. "I had a good time tonight," he says candidly. "And thank you for listening to my sob story. I get tired of bending the same ears all the time."

He's leaning in slightly now, and I'm breathing like I just sprinted a mile.

"It was far from a sob story," I assure him." And it was my pleasure."

I think he's going to kiss me, but he doesn't, and after a moment he actually straightens.

"Well," he says with frustrating finality. "Goodnight then... Ginevra. Happy early Christmas."

Oh gods. _Do something_ , _Ginny!_

He half turns, and I make a decision and grab him by the tall collar of his coat.

"Blaise," I croak, tugging him back to me.

Thankfully he's finally gotten with the programme, and he turns and presses me against the door frame, hands tangling in my hair as his mouth hovers over mine.

"What are you waiting for?" I pant, half-laughing. I haven't been this nervous since my first kiss with Dean Thomas in my third year.

Finally, he seems to be done waiting, and his full lips fall on mine. I open my mouth immediately as his tongue slides across mine. Thank Merlin I ate all those bloody mints, because he's really going for it.

He groans as he presses me farther into the wood, looming over me. When he moves to my neck I whimper delightedly.

"Do you want to come upstairs?" I choke, and he laughs, lips still brushing skin.

"Oh my gods, yes," he groans.

I surge up to kiss him again, but suddenly he floo starts smoking and he reluctantly breaks away to glance at it. When he sees the garnet smoke, he pulls away further, frowning.

"What is it?" I ask when he flicks it open and reads the message.

"It's Drake," he says. "Leolin's not home yet."

"Still?" I croak. "It's past eleven."

He's frowning now, almost as if this is my fault. I suppose it sort of is, since I insisted he not tell Draco where she went. Still, I refuse to believe that something actually happened. His floo smokes again, emerald this time to signal he has a call.

"It's Drake," he says, frown deepening. "I have to take this."

"I'm sorry," I say stupidly, even though I'm not sure I am. I have a duty to protect Leolin as much as he has one to protect Malfoy.

"I—" he begins, as if seeming momentarily torn. However, when he glances down at the floo again, his brow creases again. "See you around, Weasley."

"Wait," I bite out stupidly even as he's flicking open the floo. "Blaise—"

He shakes his head as he answers.

"Hey mate," he says, giving me a finally, searing, _confusing_ look. "No, she isn't, but I know where she went."

He turns and brusquely starts away, apparating with a cold pop after several steps. When he's gone I tip my head back onto the worn door, trying to figure out what the bloody hell just happened. There's only one question I can think of.

Was this destiny interrupted, or fate intervened?


	10. Part X

**Corresponding Enemy of My Enemy Chapter:** "Here Comes the Bird, Pt I" On the eve of Leolin and Draco's wedding, Blaise's plan to make Ginny jealous backfires, leading her to meet her new boyfriend, Wes Carmichael.

Like A Lonely House: A Love Story Told in Nineteen Parts

* * *

Part X

* * *

I glance down at the address written on the parchment in my hand before glancing up and sighing. I've been standing outside The Aerie, the Ravenclaw local, for ten minutes now, vainly hoping that by some miracle the person I'm looking for comes out, and I don't actually have to step foot in the place. I suppose I've already survived The Petty Diplomat, and this can't be any worse. Still, if its is anything like I imagine, it's going to be excruciatingly pretentious.

Still, the wedding is next week, and I've officially run out of options. Ginny has squarely avoided me since our glorious kiss over Christmas which, rather predictably, Leolin and Drake's stupid drama ruined, and I've been forced to resort to admittedly desperate measures to get her attention. I'm not proud of it, but when I think about how it felt being with her that night, my mind's made up.

I approach the bronze door and attempt to yank it open, at which a classical figure that has be carved into it unexpectedly animates and forces a rather unmanly yell of surprise from my throat.

"Oh what the fuck is this?" I demand, sneering at it.

"If you wish to enter, you must first answer riddles three."

I groan. Why am I not bloody surprised?

"You're joking," I snap, nonplussed.

"Riddle the first," the figures says instead, making me roll my eyes in disgust. "The man who makes it doesn't use it; the man who buys it doesn't need it; the man who uses it doesn't know it. What is it?"

I've heard this one before.

"A coffin."

"Correct."

"Rather macabre, don't you think?" I point out sarcastically.

It ignores me.

"Riddle the Second. I don't have eyes, but once I did see. Once I had thoughts, but now I'm white and empty."

I consider for a moment before frowning.

"A skull. Seriously, are these all going to be so morbid?"

"Riddle the Third," it continues, ignoring my glib remark again. "Bury deep, pile on stones, my mind will always dig up them bones."

I have no bloody clue, and I grit my teeth an annoyance. Why does it always have to be such a bloody struggle? Still, I've come this far, and when I think about Ginny again, about the way she looked at me that night, I know I have to do this. Besides, it's then I realise I know the answer.

"Memories," I answer. "Now for Merlin's sake, let me in."

The figure blissfully fades back into inanimacy, and I roll my eyes and push the door open into a large domed space that reminds me of a the huge Muggle worship houses in Italy. The floor is marble and the walls divided been towering bookcases and overly dramatic frescoes depicting only Merlin-knows-what. Honestly, bookcases in a pub? These people, I'm bloody telling you.

Not wanting to waste any more time here than I already have, I catch the nearest server and flash her a winning smile.

"Excuse me, could you tell me where I could find Eleanor Riley?" I ask breezily.

"She just got cut," the girl explains, and I fight not to swear out loud. " I think she's in the back restocking."

"Great," I say, curbing my annoyance to keep the girl's suspicion down. The Ravenclaws have always made me incredibly uneasy. Too smart, the lot of them. "I'll just wait for her out here then."

The girl shrugs and starts off, and I wait until she's suitably distracted before casually strolling back towards what I assume is the storage room. Blissfully I'm right, and even more blissfully, I manage to make it there without being stopped.

Eleanor is rearranging a wall of wine bottles when I get there, and I can't help but smirk at seeing her. She's pretty as ever, with glossy dark hair and rose-tinted lips, and even considering the reason I'm here, I can help but admire her arse as she bends over to pick up a box on the floor. Part of me feels guilty for using Eleanor to try and make Ginny jealous, especially considering Ginny is, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I know, and that I would rather die a bachelor than be with anyone else, but I still feel a grim pang of satisfaction at having chosen the perfect decoy; Eleanor is exquisite.

She turns when she realises I'm standing there, and she gives me a small frown of confusion.

"Zabini," she says, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey Eleanor," I reply, flashing her the same easy grin I'd given the hostess before. "Long time, no see."

"How did you get back here?" she replies, sounding slightly suspicious.

This is already not going as well as I'd hoped.

"I was looking for you, actually. How have you been?"

"How have I been?" she repeats almost incredulously, like it's the stupidest question she's ever heard. "You came all the way here, after not seeing me for two years, to casually ask how I've been?"

"Well no," I admit, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly. "Actually I came to ask what you were doing next weekend."

"You came to ask me out?" she repeats, sounding almost offended now. "What are you playing at?"

"Leolin Lefevre and Draco Malfoy are getting married and I don't have a date yet, so I was wondering if you wanted to accompany me. Just as, you know, friends."

"Aren't you _in_ the wedding?" she asks.

"Well yeah," I admit. "So?"

"So why would you take me, of all people? I hardly know either of them."

"I just thought you might fancy it. Draco's parents throw a fantastic party."

She frowns and shakes her head.

"Well, enjoy yourself, then," she says, turning back and sliding a bottle into an empty slot on the wall. "And tell Leolin and Draco I say congratulations."

Damnit, somehow I never considered the possibility Eleanor would say no. On the other hand, she made a good point; why would she say yes?

"C'mon," I goad. "It will be fun."

"I'm flattered you thought of me," she says, not sounding flattered in the least. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline. See you around, Z."

She picks up the empty crate on the floor and I start to panic. I really should have made a plan B. However, since I don't have one, I blurt the first stupid thing that comes to my mind.

"I'll give you a thousand galleons!"

She turns, looking equal parts confused and insulted.

"What?" she screeches. "You can't be serious."

"Please," I say.

"Are you mad? Now you're trying to _bribe_ me?"

"No!" I say quickly, and she gives me a withering look.

"What's this about?" she demands. "Do you and Pucey make another one of your sick little bets, or something? Forget it."

"No!" I repeat. She turns to storm out and I feel another spike of panic. "Wait, just here me out, all right?"

"You have two seconds," she snaps, eyes flashing. "Go."

"I need your help to—" I pause, feeling unbelievably sheepish.

"To what?" she repeats.

"To make someone jealous."

"Oh you aren't serious," she demands. "What are you, fifteen?"

"Please!" I say, knowing she's right. This is admittedly a juvenile play.

"No," she says. "I'm not going to help you get into some poor girl's knickers. Who even is it?" she jams her hands on her hips, surveying me with distain. "No let me guess: Ginny Weasley."

"I—" I stutter. "I'm not trying to get in her knickers!" I finish stupidly.

"Oh please," Eleanor shoots back. "Of course you are. You've been trying since we were in school."

"Look, I don't care if you believe me, but I do really like her. We have something thats..." I pause, feeling stupid and poncy for what I'm about to say. "It's the most real thing I've ever felt."

Eleanor's expression softens an almost perceptible amount.

"If that's true, then why do you need me to help you make her jealous?"

I consider this.

"It's complicated, " I say finally.

"Then explain it like I'm stupid," she said, nonplussed.

"Basically she and Draco's relationship is—complicated, to say the least, and so is his relationship with Leolin. Every time Weasley and I get to something real, Drake and Lef get into some petty harangue, and we have to go and break it up."

"Still," Eleanor defends, though I can tell I'm winning her over with my embarrassing candor. "You shouldn't be trying to trick her!"

"I'm not trying to trick her," I say, ignoring the fact that its exactly what I'm trying to do. "Just—trying to get her attention. She's stubborn, and it's one of the things I adore about her, but she can be...difficult to persuade, even when it's something she wants."

Eleanor considers this.

"I'm not sleeping with you," she says finally.

"I'm not asking you to," I defend, trying not to get too giddy yet.

"And I want 1,500 galleons. Up front."

"Done."

"And I want you to introduce me to Amelie Bellenger. She's Leolin's stepmum, right?"

"Yeah," I say, not sure where she's going with this.

"I want to break into the industry, and I'd love to pick her brain. Maybe even show her some of my designs."

I bite my lip. I'm sure Amelie's going to be busy this week with Leolin's dress, and I don't really fancy dealing with Lai if she finds out what I'm up to. She'd blow the whole thing to Hell; she's rather good at that.

"I'll introduce you at the wedding," I offer finally. Leolin will be suitably distracted by then, and it won't matter either way. Ginny will have already seen us together. It's an overly shrewd calculation, maybe, but I wasn't sorted into Slytherin for nothing.

She considers. Merlin, I'm _so_ close.

"Fine," she concedes finally. "You have a deal."

"Excellent," I say, unable to suppress a grin. "I can give you money for a dress, to—"

"No need," she cuts me off. "I'll wear something of my own."

"I'm sure Amelie will be impressed," I say in a poor attempt at flattery.

She ignores me and extends her hand instead.

"Shall we shake on it, then?"

I smile and clasp her palm.

"See you next Friday, then. I'll meet you at my flat. And pack a bag. The wedding lasts until Sunday."

She raises her eyebrows to indicate she will.

"Looking forward to it."

I nod, already picturing ditching Eleanor after Ginny grabs me for a furious shag. I know she's going to want to when she realises she's lost me. I can't wait.

"And Z?" Eleanor says coolly, raising an eyebrow. "You better keep Adrian Pucey away from me. That's ancient history I'd rather not repeat."

I raise my eyebrows. I'd forget he'd dated her after he and Daphne had finally split up. Considering what a twat he is, he certainly got around.

"Scout's honour," I tell her, already thinking it will be easier said and done. Still, I don't care if I have to stun him and lock him in a broom cupboard; he's not going to ruin my shot with Ginny. "See you next week."

x

I hear a knock at the door, and I glance in the mirror and give myself a self-satisfied look before opening it. Eleanor's waiting rather impatiently on the other side, and she gives me a none too friendly look. I ignore her. I'm not here to make friends.

"Eleanor," I say pleasantly, unable to resist giving her a rather shameful up-down. She really does look exquisite. "You look—"

"Eyes up here, loverboy," she snaps in a cold voice. "I don't have time for your ogling."

"I wasn't ogling," I tell her, giving what I feel is a disarming smile. Unfortunately, she's less than impressed.

"Listen, there was a time when I found all of this—" she gives a vague gesture with her hand. "Charming, but I can assure you that time has past. Do you have my galleons?"

I draw a glittering note from my pocket and extend it to her, and she takes it and slides it into a hidden pocket in her pale blue grecian gown.

"Are we ready, then?" I offer mildly, giving her arse another glance as she puts her back to me. I can't help it.

"Let's get this over with."

I take her bag for her and usher her outside, dropping my wards before looping a casual arm around her waist.

"Get off me," she snarls, and I roll my eyes.

"Can you tone down the caustic, please?" I drawl, sounding an awful lot like Drake. "We side-alonging, is all."

Sullenly she relaxes, eyes squeezing shut and we disappear with a pop.

We reappear a second later in Muggle Salisbury, and she glances around in confusion as we skirt the enormous Muggle worship house and cross a busy road.

"What are we doing here? Oh bollocks, you're not going to murder me, are you?"

I turn to give her a weird look.

"What is wrong with you?" I ask as I usher her over to a sleek muggle car which is waiting. "There is no apparating in and out of Malfoy Manor, and given it's size, they rarely open the floo grates, either. We'll go by car from here."

"How long's the drive?" she demands as the wizard cabbie throws it into drive and we dart off, weaving through Muggle traffic like a jack rabbit before speeding off into the rolling countryside.

I glance at my watch.

"With Terry driving? About ten minutes."

"Much obliged, sir," the man tells, tipping his cap.

Eleanor finally seems to accept all this, and she looks out the window as we speed along in silence. Finally we round a corner and the Manor comes into view. I hear her take a sharp breath in.

"Merlin's _beard_ ," she whispers. "This can't be Malfoy's house."

"It is," I assure her as we pull into the circle drive, which is jammed with granian-drawn carriages, muggle cars, and even one saddled hippogriff. "And if you think this is impressive, wait until you see the inside."

I press a hand to her back and usher her forward, offering her my arm as we cross the threshold. I watch her marvel at the foyer, which is outfitted in soft Carrara marble and dripping with gold .

Javier, Narcissa's creepy butler, appears immediately at my elbow, and I only narrowly avoid a yell of surprise. Fucking _servants!_

"Monsieur Zabini," he says in an oily voice. "May I take you and your guest's bags?"

I hand him mine wordlessly, and Eleanor fumbles out a thank you. I'm going to assume she's never had a servant before.

"Your usual room is already prepared for you, Monsieur," he says, offering me a key with a tassel on the end before slinking off.

"Looks like you're sleeping on the floor," Eleanor says immediately, plucking the key from my hand and hiding it in some fold of her silky Grecian dress.

I think to bite out, "not if I'm sleeping in Ginny's bed", but I know that is not likely to win me any favour with her, so I just shrug.

"Let's go find Drake and Lef," I say, grabbing her gently by the crook of the elbow and drawing her into the glittering ballroom.

"Not so fast," she demands, shaking off my touch again. "Introduce me to Amelie Bellenger first."

I give her an almost incredulous look. Merlin, she is shrewd.

"You really should have been in Slytherin, you know that?" I snap at her, glancing around the ballroom to see if I can see Amelie.

There are literally hundreds of people about; it could take me until dinner to bloody find her, and since its customary for the bridal party to sit at alternate tables, I won't get a chance to see Ginny until the dancing, by which time she could very well have fallen back in love with Potter or some other, equally horrible rot. However, luck is (for once) on my side, and I see Amelie standing a ways off.

"C'mon, you little con artist," I snap, and she rolls her eyes.

"Said the black pot to the kettle," she shoots back.

Amelie turns just as we approach, smiling at me.

"Blaise, cherí," she exclaims, pressing a kiss on each of my kiss. "So happy you are finally here!"

"Amelie," I say in return, smiling as we pull back. "May I introduce Eleanor Riley?"

She gives a charming smile.

"I didn't know you had a copain, Blaise!"

"I'm not his girlfriend," Eleanor says hurriedly, shooting me a look warning me against contradicting her.

"We're old schoolmates," I offer instead, raising my eyebrows back to remind her that she had better change her tune when we see Ginny.

"Enchanté," Amelie says, kissing Eleanor's cheeks as well. "Is this one of Doña Sotomayor's dresses? It is exquis." she asks, admiring the way it hangs artfully of Eleanor slim form.

Eleanor blushes.

"Actually I—it's an original design."

"Really?" Amelie demands, further scrutinising it. "This bead work is divine. Who do you work for? I can promise you I would pay three times that at my studio."

"I'm—just starting out. I was hoping to—"

Amelie cuts her off by producing a glittering business card from her clutch. "I'm afraid I'll be rather preoccupied this weekend with my bride, but come to Bellenger on Monday and bring your portfolio. I know there is a place for you in my organisation."

"Thank you!" Eleanor beams, studying the card.

"No thank you," Amelie returns, brushing an affectionate hand down my chest in salutation. "For offering me the first opportunity to make you _une étoile._ Blaise, tell your mother that I have some new things in I think she would be stunning in. She can come see me any time."

"I will," I assure her, glancing down at the still-giddy Eleanor as she smiles a final time and sweeps off.

"Satisfied?" I drawl, offering my arm again.

This time she takes it without any sourness.

"More than," she admits, actually deigning to smile at me. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," I return. "So long as you keep up your end of the bargain."

She unexpectedly swishes in front of me, grabbing me cheeks and kissing me soundly. I don't really know what to make of this gesture—whether she's saying she's ready to play her part with conviction or that she's suddenly decided she's interested in me—but I feel myself tense up, unsure if I want to kiss her back.

"Wha—" I stammer as she pulls away, and she gives me a pointed look.

"I'm your girlfriend," she says in a dry voice. "Am I not allowed to kiss you?"

"Right," I say, still a little dazed. "Of course."

She rolls her eyes.

"You are so shite at this," she levels at me coolly. "Weasley's gonna see through you in two seconds, and mark my words when I tell you she's going to be hacked off, not filled with longing."

"I don't remember asking your opinion," I point out. "Just keep your mouth shut and follow me lead."

"As his majesty commands," she says, and I growl in frustration as I glance around.

Suddenly I spot Draco and Leolin on the landing of the grand staircase looking like legitimate royalty, and my heart skips a beat when I realise Ginny's with them. She's wearing a soft grey gown that would have looked like shite on anyone else, but on her, it's perfection. It only serves to emphasise how creamy her skin is, and it makes her copper hair stand out, too. She hasn't seen us yet and she's beaming at Leolin, and I can't help but admire her.

"Wow," I breathe, staring up at her almost dumbly.

"She does look beautiful," Eleanor admits. "You have good taste, Zabini."

I glance down at her to find she's smiling at me. It's possible we might actually be able to pull this thing off.

"Right," I say, adjusting my bowtie and pressing a suggestive hand to Eleanor's low back. "Let's do this."

* * *

I am so nervous by the time I get to Malfoy Manor that I'm practically giddy, and I try to get myself together as a servant eases my coat from my shoulders and graciously takes the small bag I've packed. My dress for tomorrow is already here, but as the maid of honor, I've come prepared with everything else we might need. At this point, I'm ready for anything.

Well, almost anything. I've been trying all day to convince myself tonight is no big deal—if there is one thing in this ever-changing world I can count on, it's that Blaise Zabini worships me—but I still can't help feeling insanely nervous at seeing him.

What if he doesn't anymore _,_ though? What if he's finally come to his senses after years of lunacy and decided I'm not worth the effort? What if he's met someone else, some vapid supermodel or brilliant mediwitch?

I bubble my lips as I swipe a glass of champagne off a passing tray. He hasn't. I know he hasn't. If he had (which he hasn't), Lai would have given me a heads up. I think at this point she knows how I feel about him, even though I never _did_ get around to mentioning that if Draco hadn't have flooed right when he had that night, we would ended up shagging in her bed.

But what if he has, and she just didn't have the heart to tell me? _Bollocks._ And now I feel bloody stupid for coming alone. I should have brought a date, just in case. Maybe that painfully sexy trainer the Harpies just hired. Just in case. Just to remind Blaise he's not the only person who finds me desirable. I imagine Blaise giving me that searing, jealous look that makes my stomach flop, and I stamp my foot. Damnit.

On the other, more rational hand, I'm glad I haven't brought a date in some pathetic attempt to get Blaise's attention. We're more mature than that, and I'm tired of dancing around the issue: we like each other, and its long past time we did something about it. I think of the enormous bed in my room upstairs, and I imagine, before I can stop myself, shagging him senseless on it.

 _Oh get a grip,_ I tell myself savagely, adjusting my dress and running a hand down my hair to make sure it's still smooth. There's no point in fretting about it any longer. I just need to tell Blaise how I feel. I can worry about getting him naked later.

Suddenly clapping breaks out and I look up, smiling as I watch Leolin and Draco descending the stairs and stop on a landing halfway down to survey their guests. Leolin looks like legitimate royalty, and I admit I don't think I've ever seen her look so happy. Her dress is a simple black with long sleeves that sit off her shapely shoulders, and she's wearing an actual tiara, making her look even more beautiful. Despite everything, I feel a small pang of jealousy, and it unexpectedly grows when Malfoy turns to give her a dazzling smile I've never seen on his face before. I still have my reservations about him, of course, but there is really no point in denying he is an _extremely_ handsome bloke.

I hold my voluminous skirt out of the way as I ascend the stairs, and Leolin squeals when she sees me.

"My blushing bride!" I exclaim.

Leolin laughs, letting go of Draco's arm to embrace me. She smells lovely as well. _Of course she does, the bitch_ , I think affectionately.

"Can you believe it? We're actually made it!" Leolin says, beaming at Malfoy again. He returns the gesture, giving her another glittering look.

"I rather can't, no," I admit, glancing at Draco finally. "Congratulations," I tell him, leaning forward to brush a kiss on his smooth cheek. "I'm happy for you."

His eyes sparkle as he regards me. _Merlin_ their children are going to be good-looking.

"Thank you," he tells me, and I can tell he actually means it. "Your approval means the world to Leolin. To me as well."

I smile at him. Maybe we could still be friends after all. I know how happy it would make Leolin, and if anything were everything to come from my and Z's tete-a-tete...

However, as I'm desperately fantasising about how sexy Blaise's going to look in a tux, I see him swaggering up the stairs towards us, and the small smile slips off my face. In fact, at seeing the gorgeous brunette on his arm, I have to fight not to out and out scowl.

Eleanor Riley? Is he bloody _serious_?

Surely this is a rouse to get my attention, I assure myself. Or it's not, and somehow they've reconnected and already planning on having loads of mixed race children. Savagely I tried to convince myself that it doesn't matter either way, and I angle my torso away from him in an attempt to prove how little I care he's finally here.

"If it isn't the happy couple," Blaise interrupts, gracing us with a rare smile I am sorely tempted to slap off his face. "Hey mate," he says casually, hugging Draco. "Darling," he continues, kissing Leolin on the cheek.

Finally, he turns to me, giving me a penetrative look. Is he trying to read my expression or rub the fact he's finally moved on it my face? I can't decide, so I scowl at him and turn my head away.

"Good evening, Ginevra," he practically purrs, and I can feel his jade gaze slipping down my spine. You look magnificent, as usual."

I try to ignore the pleasant warming in my stomach at his utterance, but when I glance at Eleanor, who's as flawless now as she had been at Hogwarts, the feelings evaporates, and I sneer at him instead.

"Zabini," I scoff, barely deigning to look his as I feel a flush flooding my cheeks.

"You all remember Eleanor Riley from Hogwarts, don't you?" Blaise said, gesturing to the brunette.

He meets my sour look with a panty-melting smile, and his flippancy is infuriating. I can't believe I fell for his tawdry charms, especially now that I can see it's _all_ been some sick game. I'd been right about him all those years ago at school; he's chauvenistic and vile.

"Eleanor," Leolin says cordially, clearly trying to be polite while still assuring me she's on my side. "How lovely to see you again after all this time."

"You too," Eleanor says, seeming uncomfortable as she accepts a kiss on the cheek from Draco. I try to keep my expression neutral as she hazards a wary glance in my direction, but my petty jealousy over her beauty momentarily overwhelms me, and I know the look I give her is positively wintery.

I can feel Blaise surveying me, and I get the increasing impression that they are not, in fact, in some sort of legitimate relationship, and he's only brought Eleanor to get my attention. I suppose in some ways it's reassuring to know I still have him on the hook, but the fact he's willing this stoop this low makes me want to kick his arse. When he makes a show of sliding a hand around Eleanor's waist, the impulse increases ten fold.

"So, when did you two get together? You never said a word to me, you sly devil," Draco says, smirking sinfully. I know he's interfering because he is positively unable to resist stirring the pot, and honestly, it's bullshite like this that makes me hate him.

Blaise smirks down at Eleanor, and she gives him a smile in return that's tepid as best.

"We just recently...reconnected," he says smugly.

"How lovely for you," I snap curtly. "Just be careful, Eleanor; we all know what a snake this one can be. Excuse me."

I give Leolin another bright smile before scowling at Blaise a final time and swishing off down the stairs without another word.

I am so annoyed I want to scream. I can't though; I don't want to give Zabini the satisfaction. For a second I can't decide what I want to do; I only know that I want to make him feel the same humiliation I'm feeling right now. Considering the fact I now _know_ that he's only brought Eleanor to incense me, I finally decide it's a game we can both play. In fact, I think I'll be a better player than he could ever hope to be.

The only question remains, I realise as I swipe another glass of outrageously expensive champagne, is who my target should be. Surely a Gryffindor, someone like Harry that Blaise already hates. The only problem is that me flirting with Harry would be about as transparent as Zabini bringing Eleanor, and I'm fairly sure Harry still hasn't managed to break up with that horrid leech Olivia. She's nothing I want to mess around with right now.

As I wondering who else I can prey on—Leolin's cousin Blair is married, Teddy Nott's Leolin's distant ex-boyfriend—I see my target a ways off, talking to a younger boy I think might be his little brother. I know as I approach that Leolin will likely be hacked off—he is her mortal enemy, after all—but I know that his uneasy friendship with the rest of his Slytherin classmates is going to be an easy pain point to exploit. I'm nearly on him by the time he notices me, but he shoots me a dazzling (if somewhat predatory) smile.

"Weasley," he purrs, waving his brother off with a elegant swish of his hand. "What a surprise."

"Adrian," I say, considering him for the first time. I have to admit there is something desperately alluring about him—his glinting gold eyes, his almost girlishly perfect lips, his thick tawny hair—and suddenly find myself wondering how far I'd go in service of my revenge. However, when he gives me a self-satisfied smirk, I know not so far as to find out if he's really as good in bed as Leolin's Slytherin friends have always said. Besides, when I remember all the cruel, sick bets he'd made on girls when we were still in school, any kindling desire goes out with a hiss.

"It's been an age," he says, and I fight not to tense as he brushes a kiss along my cheekbone; I can feel his soft breath on my neck, and his cologne is cool and sharp. "You look—well."

"Thank you," I say, trying not to let on how uncomfortable I am. I will be damned if I'm going to let Zabini win this round. "How have you been?"

"Me?" He asks mildly, still sizing me up. "I'm fine. Fantastic, in fact, now that you've deigned to join me."

I give him a flirtatious smile I'm not sure touches my eyes.

"Aren't you charming," I reply in the same tone.

"I can be," he says, taking a step towards me as his golden gaze skates over my shoulder. "When properly motivated." He raises his eyebrows at whatever he's seen, and I know it means Blaise is watching us.

"Is that so?" I retort in an effort to be coy. Tentatively I reach forward to casually brush my hand down his forest green necktie. He seems pleased by the attention, and I know I should back away. Still, I'm nothing if not impetuous when backed into a corner, and I can only imagine how much Blaise is fretting over this.

Good. Let him fret, the bastard.

"You tell me," he replies, reaching forward to touch my earring, making it jingle.

"I think I already have done," I laugh, casually rolling my neck to break his grip. I admit I've grown breathless, and it's not for want of him.

"Well enough about me," he says, studying my expression the way only Slytherins ever do; it's an overly penetrative look designed to analyze what, if anything, can be gained from the subject. Even Leolin and Blaise have used it on me before, and it's utterly infuriating. "How are _you_?"

"Fine," I reply quickly, getting a glass of champagne as an excuse to look away from him to keep him him from reading me. " Same old, same old."

"Really?" he presses, and I watch his eyes flick to my lips. "Somehow how I find that hard to believe."

"I'm not sure why," I admit stupidly, unsure of what else to say.

"You don't have to be coy with my, angelfish. I know why you're here."

"And what's that?" I ask, flushing a little as he tucks a stray curl behind my ear before brushing my cheek ever so slightly with the pad his thumb. He's disturbingly good at this whole "snake-charmer" routine. Suddenly I'm less surprised that he had such success in his bets at Hogwarts.

"You're hacked off Zabini's brought Eleanor, and now you're looking to get back at him."

I don't know what to say. I mean, there's no real point in denying it, but I'm also not sure I want to flat out admit it, either. The look he's giving me is fairly unnerving.

"How am I doing so far?" he says, smirking.

I still don't say anything, and he gives me that dazzling snow white smile.

"I can help you, if you like," he offers casually. "After all, what are friends for?"

"I wouldn't hardly call us friends," I point out, getting slightly defensive. I admit I don't particularly care for where this is going.

"Then maybe you'd like to be," he presses, biting his shapely lower lip. "I'm told I'm a rather good one."

"Not from what I've heard," I shoot back before I can stop myself.

He gives a deep laugh, cocking an eyebrow.

"Don't believe everything Lef tells you."

"Why shouldn't I?" I query. " She's my best friend."

"And yet you don't do _everything_ she tells you," he points out. "Or you wouldn't have come over here."

"What are you implying?"

"Implying? Nothing. I would say more... _propositioning_."

Now I can't help curling my lip as I'm reminded why Lai hates this prick so much.

"Are you honestly asking me to shag you?" I demand.

"I never said that," he says. "What kind of bloke do you think I am?"

He flashes another easy grin.

"Unfortunately for you, I already know _exactly_ what kind of bloke you are."

"And yet," he says, raising his eyebrows. "Here we still are discussing it."

"What do you want?" I demand, knowing I need to get out while I can while still stubbornly refusing to give ground. I swear, I'm Gryff to a bloody fault.

"How about a walk?" he offers, glancing over my shoulder again before extending a genteel hand. "The gardens really are pretty fantastic."

I consider his proposition, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder as well. I know this is only bound to end in trouble, but I also know it would drive Blaise absolutely fucking _mental_.

"Well?" he presses, eyes glinting now. "It's just a walk, Weasley, not a marriage proposal."

"I—"

"Ginny Weasley?"

I turn, admittedly grateful for the interruption, to find fresh-faced Gryffindor I think I might recognise smiling back at me. One of Blair's friends, I'm fairly sure.

"Yes?" I ask, ignoring Pucey's latently annoyed expression.

"Sorry to interrupt, but your brother Charlie was looking for you. I think Fred and George might be trying to set off fireworks during dinner. He thought maybe he could talk them down?"

I turn back to Adrian, seeing a last chance to piss Blaise off without any real consequence.

"Lovely catching up," I tell him cattily, brushing a kiss on his cheek before turning back to the newcomer.

"It's a standing offer, Weasley," he purrs somewhat predatorily. I'm beginning to think Pansy's right; he does sort of remind me of a bloody jungle cat.

"Duly noted," I cast out flippantly before turning back to my knight is scarlet and gold armour. "Shall we?"

The stranger gives an easy grin, offering me his arm. At this point I do glance up at Blaise, noting his sour expression with grim satisfaction before turning my back on both of him and Pucey.

"So," I say when we're out of earshot. "Does my brother really need me?"

The man laughs, running a hand through his hair.

"I don't think Charlie's even here yet," he admits. "I just thought you looked in need of rescuing."

I raise my eyebrows mildly.

"I'm a big girl, darling, I can take care of myself."

"I know," he laughs again. "Poor choice of words. I just meant that—"

"No, I'm grateful," I interrupt, flashing him a quick smile. "It was a...tedious conversation at best. So, you are?"

He smiles.

"Wes Carmichael. I was friends with Blair and your brother in school."

"Ginny," I offer, even though he already knows my name.

"Ginny," he repeats, cute smile broadening. "Good to finally put a name to the face."

He might not be as incendiary a choice as Adrian, but when I glance up at Blaise, who's scowling now, gripping the railing of the balcony so tight his knuckles are white, I know I've won.

 _Checkmate, you miserable bastard_.

"So Wes," I say, looping my arms through his again. "What do you do?"

* * *

 **A/N: For those of you waiting for Before We Turn, Chapter 2, please know it's at my editor's now and will be posted in the next few days.**


	11. Part XI

A/N: I'm back! For those of you who follow all three of my stories, I'm trying to getting a more regular updating schedule for all of them going. Now that _You're My Nothing_ and _Like A Lonely House_ are taken care of (after embarrassingly long absences) I'll be starting on _Before We Turn_ Chapter 6, _Deliver Me, Oh Lord_ , this weekend. Be on the lookout for it. As always, PLEASE REVIEW. I can't begin to describe how exciting it is to sign onto my email and find a new review, nor how depressing it is when I do the same and find nothing. Please, alms for the poor, help a poor writer out.

Corresponding **_Enemy of My Enemy_** chapter: _Til [Blank] do us Part._ After Leolin disappears the day of the wedding, Blaise and Ginny do their best to pick up the pieces.

Like _A Lonely House: A Love Story Told in Nineteen Parts_

* * *

Part XI

* * *

""Leolin" I call through the door, knocking lightly. "The hour is nye, my love; time to rise and shine."

There's no answer, and I laugh to myself to fend off mild exasperation. Twenty galleons says she and Malfoy are naked and still in bed. I knock again and still hear nothing.

"Alright," I call. "I'm coming in. Everyone cover your naughty bits."

I push open the door, which is unlocked, and my mouth is suddenly, inexplicably dry. The room is immaculate, the bed made and the doors to the closet and bathroom both neatly shut. For some reason, it makes the hair at the back of my neck stand up.

"Leolin?" I call, venturing to the bathroom, which is also empty and devoid of Leolin's usual charming chaos. In fact, it looks as if it's been cleared out. "You in here, Bug?"

I cross to the walk-in closet next, and my heart sinks an inch lower into my chest, making me feel nauseous. It's also been cleared out, save for a few of the dresses Narcissa gave Leolin that I know she hated, or that had been deliberately purchased in too small a size.

I forced myself to relax. Leolin and Draco are planning on moving to France straight after the honeymoon; maybe, in the throes of pre-wedding nerves, Leolin decided to get a jump on packing.

And maybe she's in Draco's room. I told her a million times I didn't believe that she'd actually succeed in following the Muggle tradition of spending the night before the wedding alone. It had been ages since they'd slept apart, and I know my brothers put on a fireworks show for them after the party. It had probably been too sexy to resist, and Malfoy had convinced her back to his room for a night of hot shagging. I think, for a second, of Wes, who's probably still lying naked in my bed sleeping. Surely I understand better than anyone how much of an aphrodisiac the romance of weddings can be.

Feeling reassured, I turn towards the door, already preparing the quip I'm going to make about not wanting to see Malfoy naked. However, a fluttering at the open balcony doors catches my eye, and I cross to them to see the note that's been affixed there.

As I begin to read, my heart falls from my sternum, where it had slipped earlier, all the way down into my lower intestine, and I clap a hand over my mouth to keep myself from being physically ill.

 _Draco,_ it said in Leolin's curling script.

 _I love you more than I can say, but I can't marry you. I know you_

 _want to protect me, but your father's planning on using me to manipulate_

 _you, and I can't put you through that again. Please know that I'm doing this_

 _for you, and please my love, don't come after me .You won't find me, and I don't_

 _want to be found. You told me once that you hoped I would come to love someone_

 _else in your absence. Now I hope the same for you. Know that I will love you until_

 _I die, and I only want what's best for you. I love you. Je t'aime. Rwy'n caru ti._

 _I know we'll meet again, in that place between sleep and awake;_

 _that place where you still remember dreaming._

 _That's where I'll always love you._

 _That's where I'll be waiting._

 _Find happiness, my love._

 _Your Leolin._

I can't help it; a sob tears from my throat as my hands quake. Oh my gods. Oh my _gods_. I have to find Draco. I have to find him so he can go after her before it's too late. Because it's not too late, I assure myself; it's not. I can tell from the anguish in Leolin's note how scared she is, but I also know her better than anyone. She would rather die than live without Draco.

However, as I burst into the hall, instead of heading left towards Draco's room, I find myself going right, and it isn't until I'm nearly there that I realise where my feet are taking me. Some voice in the back of mind immediately chides me for coming here instead, but by that time I'm already pounding on the door.

"Blaise!" I croak, voice quaking. "Blaise, it's Ginny. Are you awake? Please, I need to talk to you!"

I hear the exchange of voices, one male and one female, and I ignore the twinge in my gut. Sure as I'd been last night that the whole thing between he and Eleanor Riley had been a ruse, I admit to myself now that by no means precluded the possibility that they ended up spending the night in bed together anyway. Especially since I assume Blaise knows—or at least might have guessed—I didn't sleep alone, either.

"Blaise!" I scream, and suddenly the door's swinging in, and Blaise's is standing there, looking concerned.

His smooth chest is bare and he's wearing only black boxer briefs, but he makes no effort to keep the door closed, and I can see, beyond him, both Eleanor sitting in the middle of the bed and the rumpled sofa, where Blaise clearly slept.

"Ginny," he says in alarm as I half collapse against his chest. He must still use the warm, inviting soap he had during school, and the smell is distantly familiar and oddly comforting. His arms descend to my shoulders, though his touch is light.

"What's going on?" he breathes, ruffling my hair. "Is everything alright?"

I pull away slightly to look at him.

"No," I say, biting my lip. "It isn't."

"Come in," he offers, holding the door wider to admit me.

Eleanor's up now, dressed in modest, unimaginative pajamas and looking concerned, too.

"Ginny," she says, but she pauses, clearly not knowing how to continue. "I'll give you two some space."

She gives Blaise a sympathetic (though none-too-intimate) smile before excusing herself from the room. We both watch her go before Blaise turns back to me.

"What's going on?"

Tears sting my eyes.

"It's Leolin," I whimper. "She's gone."

Terror and despair stalk each other across his face, standing out starkly against his usually-impassive features.

"Are you sure?"

I bite my lip, and his jade eyes fill with pain.

"Does Draco know?"

I shake my head, and the gesture dislodges the tears tangled in my lashes, sending them skidding down my cheeks.

"I came straight here. She left a noting saying that Lucius was going to try and use her to manipulate Draco, and that she couldn't bear it. Blaise—"

"Go and get Draco," he says seriously. "I just need to get dressed, then I will meet you in Leolin's room."

I nod, surprised when I feel the flush spreading up my cheeks. In the chaos, I'd sort of forgotten he was basically naked, but now I have to fight not to stare. He has a broad chest with swelling pectorals, and his stomach is a well-defined lattice of muscles. I force my eyes not to go lower, and when I look back up at him, the flush deepens. I know this is the absolute worst time to be bothering with this, but right now—half-naked and with all this concern for Leolin shimmering in his luminous eyes—he has _never_ looked more beautiful.

He seems to misinterpret my expression, because he takes a step forward to place a steadying hand on my shoulder.

"Hey," he says in a gentle voice. "Don't panic yet. There's still time to fix this."

I nod again, turning and basically fleeing from the door and back down the hall. Malfoy's room is locked, but I hastily draw my wand and cast an _alohamora._ I can hear the shower still running, and I trip over my feet in my hurry to get to the bathroom door.

"Malfoy," I call, fighting to keep my voice from shaking too badly. "Open up!"

I hear the tap shutting off, and in a moment the door swings in to reveal a smirking Draco, platinum hair pomaded back but still dripping water onto his bronzed skin. How someone with coloring like his can still tan, I will never understand. I push the thought aside as he gives me a smug look. The untempered joy beneath it makes me feel heartsick.

"Look Weasley," he says. "If you're really that keen to know what I look like naked, you are just going to have to ask Cal—"

I cut him off, eyes frantically darting across his falcon tattoo and the medallion Leolin gave him before finally finding his face.

"Leolin's gone," I blurt.

"Gone?" he scoffs, looking more annoyed than alarmed. "What do you mean 'gone'?" I just spoke to her twenty minutes ago."

"She's gone," I repeat, panic swelling again. Some part of me had still hoped that Leolin had gone to Draco after she'd written the note, and that he'd already managed to talk her down. I can see in his expression that, of course, she hadn't.

Draco pushes past me at once, striding to his closet and dropping his towel. I wasn't expecting it and I flush and look away, but not before I get an unintended look at him. Oh gods, he really was as well-endowed as Leolin always said. I feel gross and guilty for thinking that, and I feel the flush deepen.

He doesn't bother with pants, simply trips into sweatpants and a faded shirt, grabs his wand, and tears down the hall to Leolin's room at a jog. I'm on his heels as he bursts in, eyes taking into the cold order with mounting horror.

Blaise is sitting waiting for us, his head in his hands. He leaps up when he sees Draco, his eyes anguished.

"What—" Draco begins, and Blaise wordlessly gestures to the note on the window.

Blaise and I exchange a look before glancing over at Draco, who's already dissolved—half-mad—into grief. There are tears in his eyes, and I realise I've never seen him cry before. Never.

"No," he pleads, hanging his head for a second before looking up at us. "This isn't real."

He draws his wand from wherever he's been hiding it and casts a spell on the parchment. Immediately Leolin's tearful voice fills the room as she reads the letter aloud.

"What does that mean?" I ask in desperation, flinching as Draco obliterates the note, the force of which shatters the glass behind it.

"It means that Leolin wrote that note herself," Blaise says, voice suddenly tight.

At this, Draco crumples to his knees, sobbing desperately, and in that moment, I feel a lifetime of enmity towards him instantly melting away. I fall to his side.

"Oh Draco," I croak.

I instinctually wrap my arms around his neck, and he surprises me by burying his face in my shoulder as he continues to sob.

"This was my father," he grits out finally, taking a shuddering breath. "He has her. She would never have left on her own. Never."

"We'll find her," Blaise says seriously. "Her parents are already working on it. We'll bring her back, Drake."

Draco shifts under me and I let my arms fall away from him as he lumbers to his feet, as if with great effort. He seems to be done crying for now, and his gaze suddenly grows dangerous.

"Find me Lucius," he says to Blaise in a soft fury. "I am going to kill him. I know he has Leolin, and he's going to give her back to me."

"If you're right," Blaise cautions. "Then we need a better plan than that. If you kill him, she could be lost to you forever."

"I'm going to torture him first in every way he taught me," Draco bites out. "I'm going to cleave all the flesh from his bones until he gives up the truth."

"Draco," I beg, shooting a pleading look at Blaise. He's the only person in the world, besides Leolin, Draco ever seems to listen to. "Don't be reckless. He could kill you."

"I don't care!" Draco screams. "I have to get her back. I—I can't lose her. Not now."

Just then, the door flies open so violently I heard the wall behind it crack, and I wince. Lucius sweeps in in a wintery fury, and suddenly I'm terrified for Draco. Both he and Draco draw their wands, but Lucius's is a just hair faster.

" _Crucio_ ," he snaps, and Draco drops to his knees, screaming in pain.

"Where is she?" Lucius sneers, advancing with his wand still trained on Draco. "Where is your traitorous little bitch?"

Draco begins to cough up blood, and I feel the hysteria rising again.

"Stop!" I beg, voice choked with tears. "You're killing him!"

Lucius lets off, sneering at me as Draco rolls, heaving, onto his back.

"Where is she?" Lucius demands again, crushing a foot against Draco's sternum with enough pressure that I heard a crack.

"Stop!" I cry again, trying to push Lucius off even knowing I won't be able to move him, must less stop him.

He flings a furious arm at me, and I'm blown back, my head knicking the marble-topped side table as I fall. I'm momentarily dazed, and Blaise is at my side in an instant.

"Are you alright?" he says, easing me into a sitting position and touching my head gingerly before training his wand on Lucius.

"Let him go or I swear to Merlin I will kill you right now," Blaise says, his voice deadly low. I never realised, until this moment, how scary he can be.

Lucius sneers but eases up his grip, kicking Draco in the side before stepping back. Blaise watches him before finally lowering his wand. A second later I feel his hand on my back, and I fold instinctively into his chest.

"Where is Leolin?" Lucius repeats as Draco spits out another huge mouthful of blood, making me feel sick.

"You tell me," Draco croaks, his breathing laboured. It's obvious that Lucius cracked a rib, maybe more. "Give her back to me."

"You think I have her?" Lucius demands, teeth bared in a feral snarl. "She's of no use to me dead or missing."

His diamond eyes sparkle like fractured glass, and he bents down so he's at Draco's level before grabbing him by the hair.

"If word gets out she's left, you'll be a laughingstock, and I will not allow her to ruin this family's reputation. If she's gone, you bring her back here _now_ **.** If you don't, I will, and believe me, you will _both_ be sorry. I will make you watch as I fuck her in two."

I wince at the vulgar word choice, pressing my cheek to Blaise's chest as I try not to imagine it.

"Make him stop," I hear myself say—I'm not sure to whom—as Lucius yanks Draco's head back.

It was clear now that Draco's fighting for consciousness, his face anguished as the realisation sinks in. Lucius didn't take Leolin; she really did leave on her own.

"You tell you're guests Leolin's sick," Lucius says. "And you find her and bring her back here in twelve hours. If you don't, I'll find her myself, and you'll be lucky if she doesn't tragically… _succumb_ to her mysterious illness."

He releases Draco, whose head falls pathetically back onto the carpet.

"Twelve hours," Lucius warns before rounding on Blaise and me.

He points an accusatory finger at Blaise, but to his credit, he didn't cower away from it, meeting Lucius's gaze instead.

"If either of you breathe a word of this, I will crucio this little cunt to death."

I flinch, involuntarily, as Lucius eyes me with disgust, and I feel Blaise's hand tighten on my shoulder, though his expression remains resolute.

"Happy hunting," Lucius calls to Draco, and with that he spins into nothing.

When he's gone, Blaise releases me so I can sink to Draco's side again. I take his hand, and despite the epic beating he just took, he returns the pressure with grim determination.

"I can mend the bones and stop the pain," I say, and he nods, clearly still a little dazed from the Cruciatus and the general shock of it all.

"I'm going after her," Draco croaks, wincing as I start mending bones.

"Not like this, "Blaise says sternly. "Drake, you're in pretty bad shape."

"Every second I wait, she gets farther away," Draco says, his strength and determination returning. "I have to find her. When I do, she and I are going to disappear. Help me up."

I sit back on my heels and trade a glance with Blaise, by which time Draco has labouriously struggled to his feet.

"Drake—" Blaise protests, but with a snap Draco's gone as well.

Blaise swears and covers his eyes for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a pounding headache.

"We have to go after them right now," I say.

"We can't," Blaise says, frustrated, "Fuck!"

"Why not?"

He sighs, clearly trying to get a handle on his agitation and think. "Only the Malfoys can apparate in and out like that, and I'm sure Lucius has disabled the floo network as well. I'll have to call a car and get to Salisbury. I can apparate to London from there."

"How are you going to find him?" I ask.

Blaise clenches his jaw, looking more sad than ever.

"I know Draco. He'll start in London and then go to Paris. I should be able to catch up to him before that."

"I'll come with you," I say automatically, and I see a spark of something in his eyes that seems to indicate it's what he wants.

"No," he says finally. "Stay here with Ariadne and Adrien. They are going to need you. Narcissa, too."

I nod, almost dazedly. This is all happening so fast.

Blaise copies the gesture, seeming to steel his resolve.

"I'll floo you when I get to London, or if I find Drake."

He turns to go, but I catch at his sleeve.

"Blaise," I heard myself say, as if from a distance. "Be careful. Please."

He considers this for a second before looping an arm around my waist and crushing me to him. Before I can protest, his lips are on mine in a searing kiss. I can't imagine when he would have had the time, but I can taste that he's recently brushed his teeth when his tongue tangles with mine. I give a soft exhale and bow farther into him, wishing, despite everything, he didn't have to go. Finally he pulls away, lips still milimetres from mine.

"Bring them back," I breathe, kissing him somewhat desperately again. "Both of them."

* * *

I raise my hand in greeting as I watch the door open and Ginny step in the pub, and even now, every after all this bloody time, my heart clenches. It's midwinter again, and I watch as she shakes the snow from her hair before giving me a soft smile. There was a time when I could have lived for weeks—months, even—on that small gesture alone. Now it's barely enough to keep me from going mad.

I know it's my fault, though. I fucked up when I brought Eleanor to the wedding, and hard as it is, I have to live with that choice. At this point, I feel lucky that I get to see her at all. In what has been, without a doubt, the worst sixth months of my life, she's often been the only bright light.

"Hey you," she says, standing on tip-toes to brush a kiss on my cheek when I get up to greet her.

"Good to see you," I admit earnestly as we settle down and I gesture for the Molly, the serving girl. Ginny and I have made High Clerk our usual meeting place, and by now everyone knows us. I try not to think of what it had been like the first time we came here, and how badly I wish I could go back to that night. Not just for Ginny and me, but for Leolin and Drake as well.

She flashes me another modest smile.

"I know it is."

Though we've never discussed it, I get the sense by now that she knows exactly how I feel about her, and how bitterly I wish she wasn't dating that slimy sod Wes Carmichael. She seems to have accepted it, but clearly it doesn't mean anything to her, because she's been seeing him for six months now. I fend off the sting this realisation brings.

"So how is he?" she says without preamble, nodding her thanks as Molly sets down a glass of Malbec in front of her.

I sigh. How Draco is feels like an unendingly loaded question.

"Good," I say, before considering. "Better than before. Ariadne and Adrien have helped a lot. Drake's basically living over at Ari's flat right now, and I think it's good for both of them."

Ginny nods her sage understanding.

"Good."

"I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't stepped in," I admit, and Ginny places her hand over mine. I know it's a gesture of reassurance, nothing more, but it still sends a jolt up my arm.

"Don't see yourself short, Z. If it hadn't been for you, Merlin only knows where Drake would have ended up. In jail, most likely, or worse."

I nod, fighting not to twine my fingers with hers. Before I can stop myself, I think of where we might be right now if I hadn't fucked up so royally. We could be having this conversation in bed, instead of in some stupid pub.

"I just pray the worst is finally over," I say. "The last six months have been Hell."

"I know," she says, and she does. Despite being in season, Ginny came down from Wales as often as she could during the summer, staying even when Draco snarled and spat at her for things that were in no way her fault. Still, she bore it all with grace, knowing that in Leolin's absence, he needed someone to take his grief out on. Watching her take it so he wouldn't turn in on himself tugged at me in places I hadn't even known existed.

Gods, _how_ had I let her slip through my fingers? If she ends up marrying Carmichael, I will never forgive myself.

"How are you otherwise?" she asks, studying me with gentle scrutiny. "You look well."

I laugh, glancing down at the table to avoid having to look at her and be reminded how exquisitely beautiful she is.

"Do I?" I ask. "Because my mum says I look like shite. She never gets tired of telling me so."

She smiles.

"A mother's privilege. Is she back from Puglia yet? I was hoping to catch up with her before I have to head back to Wales."

"Oh, please don't," I blurt, and she laughs. "It'll only mean a huge lecture for me."

"A lecture about what?" she asks lightly.

She knows; of course she does. A lecture about what an idiot I am for messing up my chances with a girl as great as Ginny.

"About not wising up and settling down like you," I deflect, studying her reaction. "How is Carmichael, by the way?"

"Do you really care, or are you just being polite?" she asks, eyes sparkling.

Merlin, I almost wish she wouldn't do that. It feels so dangerously like she's flirting with me.

"If I say the former, will you pretend to believe me?"

She laughs, twirling a lock of coppery hair around one finger.

"He's fine," she says in a noncommittal tone.

Either she's being polite, or he really is as boring as he seems, because that's all she ever seems to say about him.

"I guess as your friend I should just be grateful you're dating him and not Adrian."

She gives a shudder that seems only half-joking.

"Gag," she says finally.

"What did he say to you that night?" I ask.

Generally I avoid discussing the wedding, considering what a painful weekend that was, but I'm on my second generous glass of wine, and I can't seem to help myself.

"Ugh," she says. "I'm still endeavouring to forget." However, she seems to consider, twirling her stem between thumb and forefinger. "Well he called you and Eleanor out, for starters. And then basically tried to convince me that Leolin's assessment of him was biased, and that he was actually a gentlemen."

"Well, he wasn't totally wrong," I say, but at her affronted look, I continue. "I mean, don't get me wrong, the man's a swine, but I think he could have been a saint and Leolin would have still hated him."

"Why did she hate him so much?" she wonders aloud. This was definitely unusual. We rarely, if ever, discuss Leolin these days. It's just too painful.

Still, Ginny seems more at ease with it than normal, and I decide to indulge her. In all fairness, I would discuss flobberworm mating with Ginny if it meant spending more time with her.

"Honestly, I'm not sure," I admit. "She basically hated him from day one, even before he became a total knob. For a long time I thought she might actually have a crush on him, or something. It seemed like the only logically explanation for the shite she heaped on him."

At this, Ginny wrinkles her nose.

"I know," I laugh, trying and failing to imagine what Leolin and Adrian would have been like as a couple. Insufferable, I decide. "Talk about a match made in Hell."

Ginny's expression darkens.

"I can think of worse," she says, and I realise she's looking at something over my shoulder.

I turn and groan. As if conjured here by black magic and the invocation of his infernal name, Adrian saunters in, Isobel Lorde draped on his arm.

"Is it my imagination," Ginny sneers. "Or are those knockers new?"

She's right. Isobel's always been exceedingly petite, and while I don't think anyone would have call her flat-chested before, she certainly hadn't been a d-cup.

"Twenty galleons says those were a gift from Adrian," I snort, gesturing to Molly for another glass for both of us.

"You can ask him yourself," Ginny said in a sour tone. "Because he's coming over here."

I growl in annoyance as I watch Adrian whisper in Isobel's ear before sauntering to our table.

"Well look who it is," he says in a sardonic tone, giving Ginny a shameless up-down that makes me want to kill him. "My favourite star-crossed lovebirds."

Ginny gives him a tart smile.

"Drop dead," she says.

At this he only smirks, eyes glittering behind hooded lids.

"Charming as ever, Weasley," he shoots back in a cool tone.

"So who bought Isobel those new sweater cannons," I ask. "You, or your parents?"

At this, the smirk slips off his face, and he gives me a wintery look. It's basically common knowledge that Adrian's parents are bankrolling him while he's at the Auror Academy, but he still finds a way to act indignant about it, as if it isn't actually true.

"How's Leolin?" he snipes. "I heard Geneva is beautiful this time of year."

Ginny's stiffens, and pressing his advantage, Adrian smiles again, displaying an array of overly-white teeth.

"Give her my regards, will you?" He turns to go before snapping his fingers and turning, as if he's just remembered something. "Oh, and tell her she should wear that red dress from the photo more often. It makes her arse look _exquisite."_

 _"_ Fuck. _you_." Ginny bites out, and I realise with pain and surprise that there are tears sparkling in her eyes.

I immediately think to hex Adrian for stooping that low, but he's already retreating back to Isobel and whispering something in her ear. They both turn back to look at us, and Ginny's flashes them the v before letting out a shaky breath and running a distressed hand through her hair, tousling her perfect curls.

"Do you want me to hold his arms back so you can punch him in the face?" I venture, touching her arm lightly. "I don't think he'd been nearly as handsome without those polar ice caps in his mouth."

She gives a feeble laugh before her expression melts back into a soft frown.

"Do you think it's true?" she asks finally. "That she's seeing some bloke in Geneva?"

I don't answer, because she already knows the answer to that. Leolin kept the dragon tattoo hidden at Hogwarts and when she'd worked at the Louvre. Only a few people knew she had it.

"Adrian was bang out of order for bringing that up," I say instead. "I'm sorry."

"I'm just glad Drake wasn't here for that," she says. "He would have lost it."

"Oh I don't know," I say in a darkly sardonic tone. "Could have been fun to watch him rip Adrian's lungs out with his bare hands. Besides, Adrian won't be laughing for long; Jaime Quinn told me that Isobel was at The Em with Langdon Blackburn the other night. Once Skeeter gets wind of the fact she's cheating with a married Quidditch star, Adrian's going to look like such an arse."

"We should throw a parade when the story breaks," Ginny says, still eying the couple with enmity. However, after a minute she relents, turning back to me instead. Everyone always goes on and on about light eyes, but as a person with green ones, I find them highly overrated. I love how dark Ginny's are, like molten, gold-fleck chocolates."Anyways, enough about that arsehole. What else is new? How's your sister?"

I clench my jaw. Gia's fourteen now, and—to my chagrin—getting more beautiful and grown up every day.

"She's dating a seventh year," I admit in annoyance. "And the slimy git tried to sneak her into The Em the last week. Now I owe sodding Quinn a favour for kicking them out and calling me."

"Remind me to bring you some puking pastilles next time I see you," she says in sympathy. "Is she still staying with Kingsley?"

"Over the summer she is," I say. "But she's with me for the holiday. It was the only way I could think to keep her away from the boyfriend."

"Bet she's enjoying spending time with you, though, " Ginny says.

"She is," I admit, feeling the glow of pride I always get when I think about Gia. "So am I."

Ginny smiles, and it makes my chest ache a bit. I never got a chance to thank her for the night I first told her about Gia.

"Maybe she just needs a pep talk, girl-to-girl. I can explain to her that slick and interesting aren't the same thing."

I think of what a good influence Ginny would be on Gia before politely dismissing her offer. My mum's already in love with Ginny and nagging me about her. I don't need Gia on my case about it, too.

"She's got some good sense, at least. I had a letter off Peakes last term saying that she'd gotten a month's worth detention for putting a bat-bogey hex on Tommy Pucey."

"Hope springs eternal," Ginny laughs, and I watch with mounting disappointment as she drains her glass and consults her watch. "Right, I should be off. I promised Wes I'd—"

"Right," I interject hastily, not wanting to hear what kind of romantic she and Carmichael have planned. "Are you coming to dinner at Ami and Adrien's tomorrow night? I know everyone's anxious to see you, especially Drake."

"Loathed as he is to admit it," she says, rising from her chair and reaching for her wallet. "Tell him I'll be there."

"Stop," I say, touching her wrist as she reaches to set three galleons on the table. "You know your money's no good here, Red."

She smiles at me, a real one this time, and my stomach flops.

"Someday you're going to have to let me pay," she protests, though she graciously puts the galleons back in her purse.

"I'll take it under advisement," I promise her, wishing bitterly that she didn't have to go, or that even if she did, that it wasn't back to her boyfriend.

"See you tomorrow, then," she says, brushing another salutatory kiss on my cheek, just to the right on my mouth. My skin burns where her lips touched it.

"Goodnight, darling," I say somewhat wistfully.

It's a liberty I know I'm not often allowed to take, but tonight she accepts it without comment.

"Goodnight," she said, and all too soon, she's disappeared.

I slump back down into my chair once she's gone, gesturing for another glass. There's no real solace for seeing her walk away—I know that well enough by now—but I'm still optimistic I might find it at the bottom of my next bottle of wine. Like she said, hope springs eternal.

* * *

 **Attributions:**

"You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you. That's where I'll be waiting."

― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


End file.
